


Travelers of the Sky

by Jerevinan



Series: Take to the Skies [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Adventure, Drama, F/F, Found Family, M/M, Romance, Slow Burn, airship au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-04
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2018-12-11 02:48:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 37,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11705223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jerevinan/pseuds/Jerevinan
Summary: When Noctis stows away on the airshipAgarte, he expects to travel across oceans and among the stars and escape his royal obligations. It turns out his princely duties follow him no matter how far he runs, but it becomes easier to navigate them when you have the support of an entire crew.





	1. Chapter 1

The airship waits, tempting Noctis far from Insomnia—beyond the walls of the city, to something greater than the heavy atmosphere that has darkened the halls of the Citadel over recent years. 

Noctis hears it belongs to a genius mechanic who can turn scrap piles into vehicles, whose creations are rumored to be witchcraft. The masses are enthralled but fear his prowess. Even King Regis mistrusts him, always seeking a reason to put a bounty on his head but never finding one.

And now _Agarte_ is docked at the royal port, a construction of chrome and luxury with ornate windows and wrought-iron balconies. She sits beside other, lesser vessels. Her grandness and beauty captivate; Noctis can see how those who set their eyes on _Agarte_ think Prompto Argentum is a warlock.

Noctis knows the routine of the dock guards and weaves his way through cargo to close in on her. He only needs to slip on board. The people whisper that Argentum only has a handful of crew. If that is true, it won’t be hard to find a quiet place to hide until the airship leaves dock.

There are no guards posted, and the rumors of little to no crew appear to be truth. Noctis hauls himself onto a barrel and warp strikes to a balcony using a dagger. He tries the door. It’s unlocked. As he steps inside, he finds it quieter than the nighttime halls of the Citadel. Blood red carpet muffles the sound of his boots as he pokes around the dimly lit cabin. A large bed takes up most of the room inside. One door leads to a bathroom while another exits into the hallway.

Noctis takes off his boots when he sees the steel flooring, tucking them beneath his arm. He shuffles his socked feet around, pausing to listen for noise. 

The passages are brightly illuminated. Noctis is torn between relief that it has been easy to infiltrate thus far and the fear that his luck can only last for so long. He needs to find a good hiding place soon.

None of the doors are locked. Noctis tries them all, poking his head into room after room of hotel-quality bed chambers, all as impersonal as the last. As he nears a stairwell, he happens across a storage unit. He tries the light switch but nothing comes on. There is enough room for him to squeeze between some boxes and the wall, and if the light doesn’t work, maybe no one cares about this closet enough to check it. 

He shuts the door and settles in for a few hours. Even if someone enters, he won’t be spotted unless they move the boxes.

Knowing this doesn’t help him stay calm. His heart beats unsteadily for some time. He is sure an hour has passed when he finally curls on the floor and shuts his eyes.

~*~

There are muffled voices outside the door. Noctis wakes to them and listens, barely breathing and never moving.

“The bulb blew out on me.”

“I’ll fix it right away.”

Noctis tightens his jaw, placing an unsteady palm against the floor. Yes, he can hear the whirl of engines and blades, feel her power beneath him. But how long since _Agarte_ left port?

The door opens. Noctis’ eyes widen.

“Ah, I see what you mean.” The voice sounds young and friendly. Noctis isn’t sure about the other man. “Bring me a bulb.”

“Certainly.” Footsteps clip down the corridor, the sound growing more distant by the second.

“Ahhh, damn.” There are undecipherable noises inside the closet. Noctis hears the bulb being unscrewed from the fixture. He can barely see the hand reaching up for it over the edge of the boxes. The hallway light shines off a pale arm. “There we go!”

This person sounds friendly enough, but Noctis is too afraid to come out and make his presence known at such a moment. What if the guy drops the bulb in surprise and it shatters?

The other man returns a few minutes later.

“Thank you, Iggy!” There is more noise as the companionable-sounding guy bumps around. 

A few seconds later, the closet is blindingly illuminated.

“Ow! I thought I left it off.” The hand recoils with a hiss just as Noctis squints his eyes. “There you go. All done. Need help looking for it?”

“I see it. It’s on the end of that shelf.”

Noctis feels his gut twisting. Perhaps it would be better if they find him—if he jumps out now, it won’t be any less of a shock to them. They might even perceive him as a threat.

The box by Noctis’ head kicks. He braces but it never connects with the skin. 

“Whoops.” A chuckle. “A little cluttered in here.” He hears something sliding off the shelves on the other side of the box and braces. It’s too close, close enough that—

“Hey, Ignis?”

“Yes?”

It gets quiet except for the footsteps that close in on him. 

The box is pulled out of the way, and Noctis starts, pressing himself into the corner. Two men stand over him. They’re young, too, and wear twin expressions of amusement. The one with glasses folds his arms across his chest.

“When did we pick up a stowaway?” asks the shorter one. He rubs the back of his hand—the one holding the dead bulb—against the underside of his chin. “Cindy didn’t mention letting anyone on board, so he must’ve snuck on.”

“Couldn’t be before Insomnia,” says the other—Ignis, if Noctis heard correctly. He squints down at Noctis. “Prom, I think you should be concerned. This is the prince of Lucis.”

Prom? As in Prompto Argentum? 

“What? No way!” Prom bends down and stares at Noctis a moment before offering his hand. “Need help getting up?”

Noctis is unsteady on his feet after falling asleep in the cramped space. He leans against the wall and watches the other two.

“So are you the prince?” asks Prom.

Noctis swallows. “What’s it to you?” His voice croaks, throat dry from thirst. “How far are you from Insomnia?”

“Two hours,” says Ignis. “And it’s nothing to us who you are, but rather why you’re here.”

“Maybe we should be nicer if he’s the prince, Iggy.” 

“If he’s a runaway, it could be a problem for us.”

“I am,” says Noctis. He coughs into a fist. “I mean, I did run away.”

“And how did you get on board?” Any mirth Ignis had before when they first discovered Noctis has disappeared; his voice adopts an interrogative pitch.

“I warped onto a balcony and tried the door.”

Ignis turns to Prom and sighs, fingers resting on the nosepiece of his glasses. “We really must start locking the doors, Prompto.”

“Prompto? As in Prompto Argentum?”

“You know who I am?” Prompto grins. He fingers his hair, ducking his head downward. He doesn’t hold the air of someone famous—or infamous. 

Noctis builds up courage in the silence that follows. “What are you going to do with me?”

It isn’t just a question. It’s a challenge. If they’re already two hours from Insomnia, they’re out on water. It would cost them in fuel to turn around and bring him back. Noctis doesn’t want to go back. No, it’s not that he doesn’t want to. He _can’t_.

Prompto purses his lips together and frowns, tucking his thumbs into his belt. He swings his gaze to Ignis. “What _should_ we do, Iggy?”

For a captain, he doesn’t hold much command. Noctis expected someone far more impressive a sight to behold, especially because so few people have ever seen Prompto. That might be his goal. If he looks like an inconspicuous crew member, he can pass from ship to dock without hassle. 

“Lock him in the brig?” Ignis quips. “But I’m afraid we don’t have one. He looks thirsty, so I recommend taking him to the bar.”

Prompto pumps a fist, spinning on the heel of his boot toward the hallway.

Noctis bends to grab his shoes, but his eyes don’t leave Ignis.

“We wouldn’t harm you,” says Ignis. “Not only because you’re the prince, but it isn’t in our nature. The most we might do if you threaten us is tie you to a chair and hand you off to the nearest authorities.”

Noctis gets a good look at Ignis’ eyes at that moment, when the light no longer reflects off his spectacles. They’re like a green sea churning beneath storm clouds. 

“I’ll follow behind,” says Ignis, waving an arm in the direction of the door as he steps out of the way. “Hurry, before you lose sight of Prom in the corridors. I daresay this place is a bit of a maze to the unfamiliar.”

“R-right.” Noctis does a hasty job of lacing up his boots and scoots around Ignis. He can see the back of Prompto’s jacket, the faded skull on the back descending. Prompto turns several corners out of sight before Noctis manages to catch up, and it’s only because he follows the happy tune the captain whistles.

The _Agarte_ has a marvelously decorated lounge hidden behind two steel doors. The upholstery on the booths is cream and burgundy patterned velvet, the tables made with cherry wood. There is a man wearing a monocle behind the sink, drying out the inside of a clear glass.

“Hey, Weskham!” Prompto breaks his whistling for the greeting but resumes as he slides into one of the booths. He pats the tabletop with a gloved hand in beat to his song. 

Noctis takes the seat opposite while Ignis walks behind the bar.

“So what’s your name?” says Prompto when he finishes his song.

“You don’t know the Crown Prince’s name?” asks Ignis, pausing as he dishes out ice in three glasses with tongs. 

“Might’ve heard it before, but…” Prompto shrugs.

“Noctis Lucis Caelum,” Ignis offers before Noctis can. “His father is King Regis.”

“Oh, right—I knew that.” Prompto lets out a low whistle and snorts out a giggle through his nose. “Now I know why Iggy’s worried.” He stares at Noctis, not a hint of hostility on his charming, boyish face. “Reggie isn’t my biggest fan.”

“Well, you did refuse him a request,” says Weskham, taking a seat on one of the stools, his back leaning against the bar. He waves a finger at Noctis. “I haven’t seen you since you were a little boy clinging to your father’s leg. You won’t remember me.”

“I don’t,” admits Noctis. “You knew my dad?”

“Long ago.” Weskham reaches for the shot glass Ignis slides his way. He takes it all down in one gulp. “Cid, this ship’s pilot, knew him back in the day as well. What brings you on the _Agarte_? Prompto never mentioned taking on another passenger.”

“He’s a stowaway,” Ignis offers. He leaves the bar, holding three glasses between his hands. He sets them down before seating himself across from Noctis. “Here you are.” One glass has soda, but Prompto snatches it up before anyone else can. The other two both appear to be only water. Noctis takes the nearest one.

“Thanks,” Noctis mumbles before he drinks. The cool water slips down his throat, and despite all his etiquette training as a prince, he gulps greedily until there is nothing but ice resting at the bottom.

“Here, have mine.” Ignis pushes the second glass of water toward him and stands. “I was more in the mood for Ebony, anyway.”

Noctis doesn’t down the second water as fast. He takes a sip and then spins the glass in its own pool of condensation on the surface of the table, avoiding eye contact.

“Why did you sneak on?” asks Prompto after a while. 

Noctis looks up. Prompto has his elbow on the table, chin in hand.

“I didn’t want to deal with it anymore,” says Noctis, abandoning his water and curling his fingers into fists. “I needed to leave.”

“Regis said something similar when he was your age—younger, even,” says Weskham.

“There’s no way,” says Noctis, shaking his head violently. But he thinks back to when he was younger. His father had been indulgent with him whenever work allowed him to step away. They would split slices of cheesecake and laugh over funny passages in children’s books.

Noctis is horrified to find there are warm tears spilling. He swipes them away with the back of his hand.

“I just needed some space,” he insists. “For a little while.”

“So we don’t need to turn ship and return you to his Majesty?” Ignis’ voice is soft.

“Can I stay?” Noctis looks between the three other men, gauging their expressions.

Weskham looks indifferent, but Ignis turns to Prompto for an answer.

Prompto grins. “Welcome aboard _Agarte_. She’ll have you if you treat her—and her crew—well.”

“I suggest you find him some sort of work,” says Weskham. “Everyone must pitch in where they can.”

Prompto gnaws on his bottom lip and drums his knuckles against the table. 

Noctis doesn’t know what sort of service to offer; he has only been trained in dancing, fighting, etiquette, and politics with varying levels of success. In everything else, he is useless. 

“I could patrol and keep stowaways out,” he says, laughing at his own joke as he dips his head toward the rim of his glass. 

Prompto chuckles. “You’ve got us there. We’re not big on security around here. Ignis and Weskham can protect me in a pinch. It’s not often I get attacked, but some people don’t like me much.”

The rumors of witchcraft seem ridiculous the more time Noctis spends in Prompto’s company; the infamous Argentum appears to be nothing more than a young genius with a fondness for airships. If there are any leaders of this crew, they’re to the left of Noctis, brewing coffee and leaning against the bar, making silent observations of his character in careful glances. 

Ignis pours a cup of Ebony. “Would you like any, Noctis?”

“Oh, no thanks.” He resists the urge to crinkle his nose.

Ignis returns to the table and takes a sip of his coffee, sighing. His expression is lighter.

“So what do you think I should do?” Noctis directs the question at all three of them and hopes at least one of them can provide an answer.

Prompto snaps his fingers. “You could shadow Ignis for a while.” He looked expectantly at his crewmate. “You don’t mind, do you, Iggy?”

“Not at all.” 

Noctis suspects that Ignis would prefer to keep an eye on him; there’s a hint of mistrust behind his calm demeanor. Fair enough—Noctis doesn’t know these people any better than they know him. 

Only Prompto appears to have warmed to him. “Welcome aboard, Prince Noctis! Mind if I call you Noct?”

“He has a thing for nicknames,” says Ignis before he takes another sip of his coffee. “It would also be wise to shed the title of prince for now.”

“Noct is fine.” 

“All right, Noct,” says Prompto, reaching across the table to pat him on the shoulder. “I’ll have Iggy show you to a room after we get something to eat!”

“Sounds good.” He doesn’t want to admit _how_ good—enough that the anxiety that has clung to his back like a daemon recoils into a dark corner. He hopes the light on the airship will send it fleeing for good.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I loved writing the scene with Ignis and Prom. They're kind of brotherly?
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy! :D Thanks for the feedback so far <3

Noctis is given a room similar to the suite he broke into. The decorations are beige and deep blue, the furnishings practical. Ignis stands in the doorway and waits while Noctis peers into the bathroom.

“You should have two towel sets,” says Ignis. “This room was designed to hold two passengers.”

“Oh. So it’s like a hotel?”

“Yes, that is the goal.” Ignis reaches into his breast pocket and produces a key card. “Most of the doors are unlocked, as you’ve already discovered, but feel free to lock yours. Don’t lose this card. We have backups, but we would rather not issue them out. Please be mindful that we don’t offer maid services except for paying guests. You’ll need to make your own bed and clean up after yourself, like the rest of the crew.”

Noctis takes the card. The bar is on the back, the room number circled by a golden Jormungand on the front. 

“Thanks.”

The room holds no personality—there’s not even a single picture hanging on the walls. Noctis doesn’t have anything in his possession to make the room feel more like it belongs to him.

He doesn’t even have a change of clothing, and he smells bad.

“Is something wrong?” asks Ignis.

“Huh?”

“You had your nose curled. Is something not to your liking?”

“That’s not it. I didn’t bring anything with me. I don’t even have a toothbrush.”

Ignis laughs. “We can surely find something on board. I’ll see what everyone can spare until we get to Altissia. Do you have money for the shops?”

Noctis has a few cards on hand, all of which his father can track—and cut off, if he hasn’t already. He pulls out his wallet, but there isn’t even a crisp 100 gil bill tucked in its folds.

“I didn’t think this through…”

“Clearly. Don’t worry about food. As for clothing, I’ll see what I can do.”

“Sounds good. Thanks.” Noctis sets his keycard on his bedside table, along with his useless wallet.

Ignis closes the door, leaving him alone in his cold, empty room.

~*~

Once Noctis has been provided a change of clothing, a bar of soap, and a toothbrush, Ignis slips into the kitchens. Preparing meals and desserts helps him to sort the thoughts in his mind. He chooses cupcakes—something sweet and easy. 

He stirs the batter and tries to come up with solutions to the political problem they’ve inadvertently allowed on board. Prompto and Ignis only went to Insomnia on King Regis’ behest. The meeting did not end on friendly terms. 

Ignis only hopes Regis doesn’t connect his son’s disappearance with _Agarte’s_ departure.

The doors of the kitchen swing open as Ignis lifts two cupcake trays from the oven. Prompto pauses, inhaling theatrically as he smiles.

“Smells good, Iggy!”

“I’m glad you think so. Let’s hope this batch turns out better than the last.”

“That last batch was amazing, what are you talking about?” Prompto circles around the cabinet and pokes a finger toward one of the spongy mounds of cake, but Ignis slaps it away. “Aw! I’ll get one when you’re finished?”

“Of course.”

Prompto leans against the countertop and hums for a few minutes. Ignis is used to his presence while he cooks. They have some of their best conversations in this kitchen.

The humming fades off. “You knew the prince was hiding in that closet, didn’t you?”

“Well, I didn’t know he was the prince at the time.”

Prompto snaps his fingers. “Thought so! I was wondering why you’d come to me over a burnt light bulb. But why bring me into it?”

“We needed the light, but I was afraid whoever exchanged the bulbs would be attacked.”

“Ooh. Good thinking.”

“I didn’t think he meant any harm, but you can never be too sure.” Ignis removes the cupcakes from the tray, laying them out on a piece of parchment to cool. “Having him on could create a problem for us.”

Prompto begins to chew at one of his nails.

“I know,” he mutters between his fingers. “I mean, I guess. How bad could it be?”

“King Regis will surely try to track him down. If it appears we kidnapped his son—”

_“Kidnapped?!"_

“—then it could mean executions for us all.” Ignis needs frosting, and lots of it. He’ll color it in a bright yellow, something cheerful, and perhaps decorate them with purple fondant flowers. The presentation that goes into them will be exhausting, but he doesn’t think he’ll be getting any sleep that night. 

“We’ll handle it, if something happens. Is that why you’re cooking up a storm? You’re worried about us carrying royal cargo?” 

Ignis reaches out for Prompto’s wrist and pulls his fingers out from between his teeth. “Wash your hands and help me. You’ll make yourself bleed if you keep that up.”

“Too late.” Prompto holds up the damage, and Ignis grimaces. 

“Get a bandage on it. You can do the dishes.”

Prompto disappears out the kitchen doors, giving Ignis time to contemplate their situation. He ought to turn on the radio and listen in on the news—surely reports of the prince’s disappearance have reached public ear by now.

Ignis is still shaken by how much pain he saw creased on the features of Noctis’ face, the struggle behind his lovely blue eyes. Noctis is a handsome prince, but something in his heart lingers, as black as the clothes he arrived in. It might take a while before Noctis confides in them as to why he fled the Citadel. 

Prompto keeps busy with the dishes while Ignis makes the frosting. Afterward, he drags a stool over and watches Ignis decorate the cupcakes. Prompto’s tenor voice sings out a lovely melody, creating a low soothing atmosphere in the kitchen.

“What would you have me do tomorrow?” asks Ignis. “I’m certain he’ll need to be shown around the ship.”

Prompto laughs. “Yeah, he might get lost if you don’t.” He drums his fingers on the countertop. “Give him a tour and have him help you. Teach him the ropes. Is that too much trouble?” Prompto’s pinky finds his mouth, but Ignis reaches over and eases it away. “Sorry. I know it’s a gross habit.”

“I’m more worried you’ll bleed again.” Ignis hasn’t seen Prompto this nervous since _Agarte_ finished completion. “I’d be happy to show him around. I didn’t detect any dishonesty from him. I think he genuinely wants some time to sort something out—if only we knew what it is that he needs to figure out. I think he’ll want to go home soon enough.”

“That’s good.” Prompto’s body uncurls. “So you don’t think he’s here on his dad’s behalf?”

Ignis shakes his head and begins rolling out the fondant to cut it into flowers. 

“No, I don’t think we have to worry about that. We need to keep his identity and location secret, but I think he’s aware of that. He said he didn’t have money—cards can be tracked, so he’s wise enough not to use them.”

“We’ll manage something,” says Prompto, drawing circles on the countertop with his index finger. “We’ll get him some clothes in Accordo, share our food with him. I wish we could get more passengers. The profits would help.”

“I know, but we must give it time. The _Agarte_ has only been up and running for eleven months.” Ignis wishes he could better reassure Prompto, but he has never been a businessman. “Perhaps Weskham would have some idea of how to attract a larger customer base.”

“Right.” Prompto sighs and slumps over the cabinet.

“None of us on this ship are alone,” says Ignis, patting Prompto’s shoulder. “I’m nearly done with these cupcakes. We can enjoy them tomorrow after they’ve chilled overnight.”

Prompto’s lips smile, but his eyes hold a heaviness that worries Ignis. Someone who shines bright must find time to recharge, and it doesn’t look as if the genius has slept well since his chat with King Regis.

“Come now, off to bed,” says Ignis, herding Prompto toward the door.

“What about the rest of the cleanup?”

“I’ll deal with it. Get some rest.”

Prompto grabs the door frame. “Wait, what about you? You need to sleep, too.”

“I know. I fully intend to once I’ve wrapped up here.” Ignis wiggles his fingers to shoo him away. “Off with you now.”

Prompto laughs. “Goodnight, Iggy. Thanks.”

“Goodnight, Prom.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How many chocobros does it take to change a lightbulb?
> 
> THREE. One to hide in the closet, one to guard the door, and one to change the damn thing! :'D /shot


	3. Chapter 3

The rooms on _Agarte_ are chilly as the ship cuts through the clouds on a path to Accordo, but the bedding is warm, making it easy for Noctis to rest. Everyone always tells him he can sleep anywhere; it turns out that remains true when he’s on an airship.

The next morning, he gets lost in the hallway on his way to the bar. He follows the scent of coffee and finds Ignis. Cup in hand, Ignis chats with a young blonde woman in the corridor. 

“Oh, there he is!” she cries when she spots Noctis. She waves him over. “I heard you snuck on back in Insomnia.”

“The doors are never locked,” says Ignis. “It’s a surprise he’s our first stowaway.”

“He’s cute!” The woman tucks her fingers under Noctis’ chin and tilts his head from side to side, her eyes and lips curved into a smile. “And you’re telling me he’s the prince?”

“The one and only.”

Noctis is too shocked to step away as she assesses him. She tilts his head back and forth, appraising him from hair to shoes with her eyes. A few minutes later, she backs away, nodding with her arms crossed over her chest. 

“I’m Cindy, and I’m this ship’s secondary mechanic and her co-pilot!”

“I’m Nocti—Noct.” 

“I know who you are! Paw-paw’s gonna lose it when he sees you! He hasn’t spoken with King Regis in ages.” 

Noctis bristles. Not everything about him needs to be related to his father, yet Regis is the only person anyone thinks of when they see him.

Ignis places a hand on his shoulder. “You won’t meet Cid for a while, yet,” he says. “He’s often napping in the bridge.”

“Wait, but if he’s napping, who’s steering the ship?”

Cindy laughs and wags a finger. “You forget who designed this girl. She’s on autopilot, and she has sensors all around her to detect other ships and steer outta their path. Paw-paw and me are formalities on paperwork. _Agarte_ pilots herself, thanks to her captain bein’ such a genius.”

“Does Prompto ever navigate?”

“Prom rarely sees the bridge unless he’s working on the ship, and that mostly only ever happens when she’s docked.”

“Wait, so what does he do while she’s in flight?” 

“You’ll find him in his workshop!” Cindy grins. “In fact, I think I’ll head down there now. You boys get some breakfast.” She smacks him on the back hard enough to make him sway. “Have Ignis make you something good!”

Cindy disappears around a corner, a skip in her step as she goes. Noctis turns to Ignis, who sips on his coffee before quirking an eyebrow.

“I’m lost,” Noctis admits.

“Ah, of course. I ought to go with you—I am one of this ship’s chefs, after all. And Weskham doesn’t do breakfast.”

“Wait, you’re the cook?” 

“One of them. I’m also Prompto’s assistant.” Ignis begins leading Noctis down the corridors. “Everyone on this ship has more than one role, except for Cid. He’s mostly along for the ride at his age.”

“So you have a pilot who doesn’t pilot…” Noctis frowns. “I’m not sure I get it.”

Ignis smiles. “Neither do we, but Prompto has it all figured out.” He pushes open one of the doors leading to the lounge. “Take a seat anywhere while I whip something up. What would you like to eat?”

Noctis peers around the empty room. Maybe it’s best he doesn’t have to dine with dozens of people surrounding him, but it’s strange that such a large ship holds so few passengers.

“Could you make waffles?”

“Certainly. Feel free to find something to drink—the bar is always open when Weskham’s not behind it. He’s a bit picky about who he trusts behind it. If he shows up, you need only ask one of us to get something for you.”

Noctis makes his way around the bar and finds a cabinet lined with clear glasses. He takes one down and begins rifling through the fridge. There are a lot of choices, from various juices to different sodas. He selects freshly squeezed orange juice, the pulp clinging to the sides of the pitcher.

Noctis chooses a corner booth near the wall of windows, not far from where he was seated with Prompto the day before. They’re above the clouds, so high Noctis can’t see anything below. He’s certain they’re still over water. Accordo has mountains. Does _Agarte_ know to steer around those?

It doesn’t take more than half an hour before Ignis returns with two plates of waffles and a refill of coffee on a tray. The kitchens lie behind the bar, through another set of steel doors that flip open with the bump of Ignis’ hip.

Ignis doesn’t ask for permission before he seats himself across from Noctis. Eating alone would be weird anyway—Noctis has never been fond of sitting at the table by himself, guards posted like statues around the dining room. Most of his meals were taken with his father, but lately, all they’ve done is bicker. 

Noctis bites cautiously into his waffle and is surprised by the balance of sweetness and flavor.

“These are good!”

“Thank you.” Ignis hasn’t touched his—his eyes are on Noctis, his fingers on the handle of his coffee cup.

“Thank _you_. For making them, I mean.”

“You’re welcome.”

Noctis takes another bite and cranes his neck toward the door to the hall. 

“So how many people are on board?”

“Five at the moment.”

Noctis almost chokes on his waffles. “Wait, what? Only five? Don’t you need…” He waves an arm at his side, gesturing toward the heart of the _Agarte_. “Staff? Passengers?”

“We take passengers from time to time. Five is our permanent number, but we often have six when Sania Yeagre boards—she’s a famous biologist.”

“I know who she is.” Noctis can think of a certain Shield who reads her books religiously. “Anyone else?”

“Well, you’re here for as long as you deem fit to stay, but I wouldn’t consider you a guest.” Ignis raises an eyebrow before he takes a sip from his coffee. 

Noctis slumps against the back of his chair and continues to dig into his waffles, chewing thoughtfully. 

“I’d like to stay,” says Noctis after a few minutes. “I don’t know when I’ll go back.”

“Do you mind if I ask why you left?”

The memory of a letter flashes in his mind, a confession wrote in jerky movements, the ink smeared when usually the penmanship held confidence in its clean, smooth curls. He thinks of the young woman who wrote it, of the anger in her words, of his father’s fury when confronted about the contents.

“I’m not ready to talk about it.”

“I see. Very well, you may stay while you sort out whatever sent you running in the first place.” 

They finish eating in the following stretch of silence. Noctis realizes he doesn’t know what to do or where to go afterward. He doesn’t even know how to return to his room. But even if he is lost on _Agarte_ , he knows it would have been worse to have stayed home.

~*~

The magnificence of the _Agarte_ is not limited to her beautiful exterior or the opulence of her guest suites. There is a solarium on the top floor protected by a domed glass ceiling. The furniture beneath is upholstered in navy blue, the darkest objects in a room otherwise dominated by cream colors. Plants flourish in the provided light.

“This is a good place to relax with a book,” says Ignis from the doorway. “The seating is comfortable.”

Noctis sees napping possibilities rather than reading opportunities.

Beneath the floors, two staircases down, _Agarte_ whirls to life with carefully constructed machinery. Prompto’s workshop lies adjacent to the engine room. Off to the side is a doorway with a sign on it: DO NOT ENTER THE DARK ROOM!

Prompto is hunched over a worktable, sketching a blueprint. He waves at them without looking up when they enter.

Most of the tools hang on the walls in their proper places, and the area is clean, but there are patches of workspace where materials clutter around a project. Noctis has no idea what he’s looking at as he gazes around.

“People in Insomnia think you use forbidden magic on your airship,” says Noctis.

“Oh, the rumors I’m some kind of wizard?” Prompto laughs, shaking his head down at his blueprint. “Yeah, I’ve heard them. Even your family's magic can't build something out of nothing. I don't know why anyone thinks I can do that.”

“It is pretty silly,” Noctis agrees. “What made you build her?”

Prompto sets down his pencil and crosses his arms over his chest. He shrugs, chewing on his lip.

“I have a lot of ideas, and she was one of them.” Prompto rolls up his parchment and snaps a band around it. “It’s about the money—that’s how those rumors about me started.”

“Money?”

“You don’t think building parts are free, do you?” Ignis chimes in. “Even scraps have to be bought.”

“I didn’t have enough money to build her,” says Prompto. “People are suspicious that someone like me managed to afford her, so they make up stories about how I used dark magic.”

“I know that, but aren’t there grants and…” Noctis pauses. He doesn’t have a clue, and both of them know he’s nothing more than an ignorant, _rich_ prince. Well, he _was_ all of those things, but now he’s only ignorant.

“Loans and grants don’t cover the cost of an airship,” says Prompto. “ _Agarte_ was several million gil to build, and that doesn’t include costs of upkeep or furnishings.”

“She’s as nice as the Citadel,” admits Noctis. “Nicer, actually. Not as gloomy and dark.”

“If we want to keep her running, we have to make her nice enough passengers want to stay on her. She’s supposed to be a cruiser.” Prompto sighs and slides out of his chair. “We have a few passengers, but they have to pay a pretty penny to ride.”

“But how did you build her?”

Prompto stretches out his arms and yawns before he answers. “I built smaller things first. I designed and sold blueprints. People will pay a lot for a working airship design they can mass produce.”

“Who did you sell them to?”

Prompto exchanges a strange look with Ignis. 

“Your father,” Prompto admits.

“But Weskham said you refused his request…”

“For a fleet. That was why I was in Insomnia. He wanted to ask me to design a fleet. For _fighting_. No way was I going to agree to that. But all his luxury vessels are _my_ designs.”

Noctis feels a fire clawing up his chest, threatening to turn his words to fiery ash in his throat. 

“My father would never do that…” As he says it, he knows he’s lying—to himself. To preserve the image of the man who played with him in the nursery and told him bedtime stories. “It’s the Niffs—they’re threatening war!”

“I’m a Niff,” says Prompto.

Noctis flinches and bows his head.

“Listen, I don’t agree with the Empire—what they’re doing, trying to take over Tenebrae and even Accordo. I was raised in Lucis. But I’ve been over there, and I know what the people are like. They’re not their government. A fleet would hurt a lot of innocent people. A war would hurt everyone on all sides.”

Noctis agrees, and three years ago, he’s sure his father would have as well. But times have changed, and Regis no longer holds the same ideals or attitudes as he once did. Noctis remembers the letter, and his hands curl into fists until his fingernails dig deep into his palms.

“I’m sorry,” says Noctis, because he can’t think of anything else to say. Not without revealing too much about the delicate political matters his father must juggle. Even if the two are at odds with one another, he is still a prince of Lucis.

“That’s a heavy subject,” says Prompto lightly.

“Yes, if we’re to have a prince on board, perhaps we should refrain from political conversation,” says Ignis. “Noct, would you like to see more of the ship?”

“Oh, a tour?” Prompto leaps to his feet. “Count me in.”

“I’ll let you lead it from now on.”

“Awesome!” Prompto pumps his fist in the air and hurries to the door. When no one follows immediately, he swings around and raises an eyebrow. “Let’s go!”

~*~

Prompto shows more enthusiasm than Ignis during the remainder of the tour. He loves his work, even though direct compliments about his intelligent make him blush and wave them aside. It isn’t that he thinks he’s a genius at all. His passion and hard work is in every screw and bolt that keeps _Agarte_ together. 

Prompto insists they stop by the bridge to show Noctis how the sensors and navigator work. 

“But Cid will be there,” says Noctis.

“Eh, what’s wrong with Cid? He’s all bark and no bite.”

That doesn’t put Noctis’ mind at ease, but he agrees to visit the bridge—Prompto seems eager to explain how the airship flies with so little manual help. Even Regis’ beloved vessel, _Milhaust_ , requires several pilots to manage him at one time. 

“ _Agarte’s_ a prototype in some ways,” Prompto admits, rubbing the back of his neck. “She works fine—when she didn’t, I fixed her until she did.”

Prompto knocks on the door to the bridge before he swings it open. The view of the sky is magnificent from the curved glass that wraps around the control panels. Noctis stares out at the vastness in awe.

“Your jaw always that slack, boy?” 

Noctis jumps. A short man with a face like a crumpled paper bag glares up at him. 

“How’s Reggie doing?”

 _“Reggie?”_ Noctis is so taken aback by the nickname—the familiarity—that he doesn’t know how to answer. He isn’t even upset that his father is yet again dragged into the conversation. 

“You know what, I don’t even care!” The man who most definitely must be Cid harumphs and waves Noctis away as he hobbles over to the nearest chair. “Dumb ol’ fool, he is. You don’t look much better.”

Cid manages to stir up an indignant anger in Noctis. “Hey!”

“What are you even doing on this airship?” Cid peeks out at him from under the rim of his cap. “Do you know anything about ships?”

“Says the pilot who doesn’t even pilot.”

“I can pilot her,” snaps Cid. “I’m here to make sure she’s doing fine on her own. Think of me as her guardian.”

“He’s saved our bacon a lot,” chimes in Prompto, who finds another chair to swivel in. “That’s sort of the reason we don’t lock doors around here—makes it easy to wake someone up in the middle of the night if something goes wrong.”

“There’s an intercom and alarm system, too, but some people sleep through it,” says Ignis. He looks specifically at Cid, who narrows his eyes back at Ignis.

Noctis decides not to warn them that he is capable of sleeping through the loudest alarms during his deepest rests—though he is, for the most part, a light sleeper who tends to wake up often throughout the night. That only makes it harder for him to stay awake. 

He slept surprisingly well during his first night on _Agarte_. He’s still a bit groggy, but he doesn’t remember waking up every half hour and drifting off again a few minutes later. He even had a good dream, though he can’t remember what it was about. At least it wasn't another nightmare.

“Reggie and I go way back,” says Cid, adjusting his cap over his scraggly hair. “Weskham and I used to be good friends with him. Weskham still is, but I haven’t talked to him in…” He twists his mouth. “Twenty years? I never did see you when you were born. I still talk to Cor and Clarus sometimes.”

“Really? How come I’ve never heard of you? Or Weskham?”

“Weskham didn’t stay in Insomnia, but he used to work for your daddy. As for me... Well, Reggie and I had a fallin’ out. Ain’t been the same since.”

“I’m surprised you ever got along.” Noctis can see someone like Weskham hanging among the high-ranking officials in the Citadel—can see him sitting among the other council members. But Cid seems like he was plucked out of a roadside bar, a has-been from the country.

“Kind of surprised, too,” says Cid, and his voice sounds distant and heavy. Perhaps Noctis’ initial judgement has been too harsh. He doesn’t know what led this man to become the crotchedy so-called pilot of the _Agarte_ , but maybe it has to do with his history with the king.

Noctis knows what it’s like to be at odds with his father, but only recently. But the man who curled up next to him in his bed when he was frightened as a child has also slayed people on the battlefield, has led his armies against camps of Imperials. The tender man who fussed over his son’s bellyaches had the stain of blood on his cape. Noctis doesn’t know the darker side of his father’s history except in watered-down versions and eavesdropped conversations. But he knows it’s there—as plain as the history of all the Lucian royal family, its kings and queens known for their ruthlessness in times of war.

Noctis wishes for a time of peace, so he might have his father back.

The thought makes him want to cry, but he isn’t about to share his tears with this group of men he barely knows. They might ask questions, and he isn’t ready to give them answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is kind of exciting, I'm bringing in Kingsglaive! \o/
> 
> It's kind of fun writing Ignis and Noctis when they haven't grown up together. It's even more interesting in the next chapter. 
> 
> Feel free to let me know what you think, and thank you for reading! C:


	4. Chapter 4

Ignis is having a cup of chamomile tea to help him relax when every sensor on _Agarte_ begins to screech. The warning lights above every doorway flash orange, the sound and noise pounding against his headache. 

This never happens—not by accident. Ignis has learned to trust Prompto’s finely tuned machine in every aspect; if she is alerting them to something, there is cause for concern.

Ignis abandons his cup on the bar counter and hurries to the windows. He can see stars and clouds, but no source of the disturbance.

The ship jostles. The intercom lets out a tinny screech before Cindy’s voice cuts in.

“We’ve got company! Looks to be a Lucian ship—one of them small ones!”

Ignis knows immediately they’ve come for the prince. They’re likely Crownsguard or Kingsglaive members—he might not find out until after they’ve infiltrated. He’s surprised they didn’t catch up sooner. _Agarte_ has almost reached the seas around Accordo, which would have put them safely outside the bounds of Lucian territory and prevented an attack.

His priority should be to find Prompto, though he suspects their captain’s answer will be to help Noctis in whatever way they can. 

When Ignis bolts into the hallway, he collides with Weskham.

“Sorry, Weskham,” says Ignis as he continues his path to the bridge. He can hear Weskham’s footsteps behind him.

“Wait! Ignis, I’ll guard Prompto. You should focus on Noctis.”

Ignis only slows his pace. “Do you think they’ll try to board?” He already knows the answer, but he asks anyway.

“I know they will. King Regis—difficult though he may be—adores his son.”

Weskham’s hand falls on his shoulder. Ignis stops long enough to be handed a sword. He doesn’t know how to use one, relying more on his daggers. He can use a lance, too, but they don’t tuck into a sheath at his belt so easily.

“Noctis might need this,” says Weskham. “The prince should know how to use one—he should be able to use any weapon, knowing the royal family’s training. Get Noctis to the bridge before anyone is forced to engage the enemy. If you do run into them, try to reason with them, but let Noctis do most of the talking.”

Ignis alters his course, moving down the corridors to Noctis’ suite. He won’t be asleep, but Ignis only hopes he hasn’t left his room. He doesn’t think their pursuers will try to sink _Agarte_ yet—she might be over water and present no harm to civilians, but they can’t risk taking her down until the prince is secured. 

It’s only a matter of who gets to Noctis first.

The door to Noctis’ room is already open. Ignis stomach lurches and he picks up his pace. Have the intruders already taken Noctis? But as he gets nearer, the prince pokes his head out.

“What’s going on?!”

Ignis thrusts the hilt of the sword in Noctis’ direction. “Take this. Weskham thinks you might need it. Do you think you can fight your father’s Kingsglaive, if it comes to that?”

“Wait, they’re Kingsglaive?”

“More than likely. You should have anticipated this.” Ignis stretches out his arm until Noctis finally takes the sword. “I need you to consider your words carefully, Noct. If you want to stay on this ship, you need to convince them this was your choice. If they can’t be convinced, you might have to fight. If you don’t, you’ll risk the lives of everyone on board.” Ignis’ voice rose with each word, hoping to motivate the prince out of his state of shock. “Do you understand me, Noct?”

Noctis’ eyes close for a moment, but then he nods. Ignis barely catches it, but that is a good enough answer for him.

“Good, then we’ll fight for you if we must.”

“I’m sor—”

“I don’t want to hear it.” Ignis’ voice cuts sharp through the blaring of the alarm system. “If you’re sorry, you’ll do your best to see us all through this alive.”

“I... I know.”

Ignis can’t do anything about Noctis’ shaky conviction, which might make a confrontation difficult, but it’ll have to be enough for now. He’ll lead Noctis to the bridge and hope his words will be a reminder to the prince at the most critical moment.

“Be careful,” says Noctis. “The Kingsglaive borrow my dad’s magic.”

“Weskham has told me stories." None that make Ignis feel any safer. Tales of soldiers who can throw a weapon or magic flask and warp to its location. Warriors who’ve trained in many disciplines. Ignis can fight, but will his skills meet the strength of the King’s magic? "Follow me—we must hurry to the bridge and meet up with the others.”

Ignis keeps his daggers sheathed. It might be to their benefit if the Kingsglaive see Noctis holding a sword while no others have theirs drawn. 

They run through the halls of _Agarte_ , pausing at intersections to look out for any sign of intruders. Ignis presses his palm against Noctis to still him before they move up a stairwell, and he can feel his heart beat heavy against his hand.

Glass shatters somewhere in the adjacent hall. Noctis hesitates, and Ignis pivots around to grab his arm. They’re not far from the bridge. If they can make it up to the next level and turn left, they’ll only be a few paces away from joining with the others.

Ignis hears the footsteps around the corner when they reach the top of the stairs, sees a shadow cast across their path before a man in a Kingsglaive uniform blocks their way. He lifts his eyebrows as he stares beyond Ignis at the prince.

“Nyx?” Noctis pushes past Ignis. “What’s going on?”

“We’ve got orders to bring you back.”

Over the alarms, Ignis hears the clink of running boots on the steel flooring behind them. Ignis turns, back to back with Noctis. Another Kingsglaive slows, stopping at the base of the staircase.

“Nyx, orders?” she asks as blue light cascades around her fingers. Raw magic. Ignis cannot wield any, but he can feel it against the hairs on his arms until they’re standing on end.

“Hey, Crowe, the prince _was_ kidnapped, right?” asks Nyx, amused. “So why’s he the one with a sword?”

The other Kingsglaive gazes at Noctis curiously, but her body stays poised for combat.

“I wasn’t kidnapped,” says Noctis. “I ran away. There’s a difference.”

“Orders are to take you back.” Ignis can hear the shrug in Nyx’s voice, even if he can’t see it.

“No one’s taking me anywhere.”

Ignis tenses as Crowe rests her eyes on him. More magic surrounds them, thick and pulsating in the air. It’s overwhelming. Weskham warned him, but he could never imagine until now what it was like to feel it raking against his skin like a promise. Like a threat.

“Nyx, you have to listen to me! Dad doesn’t know what he’s—” 

“Noctis!” The bellow belongs to a third stranger. Someone with a lot of muscle, from the sound of his footsteps. Ignis doesn’t dare move to see who they belong to, though his fingers flex toward his daggers as a precaution.

“Gladio?” 

Gladio—short for Gladiolus Amicitia, the prince’s sworn Shield. The situation gets worse with each passing minute.

There’s heavy breathing beside Nyx, but Ignis doesn’t dare turn away to see what Gladiolus looks like. Ignis locks gazes with Crowe, and they narrow down at each other, assessing weapons and vantage points. Going up against her could be tough—even without the king’s magic, she looks like a formidable foe in combat.

“What are you doing here?” asks Noctis.

“I’m here for you. What’s going on?”

“He says he ran away,” Nyx says. “You sure it’s a good idea to take him back if he left in the first place?”

There’s a quick scuffle and a yelp, all drawing Ignis’ attention away from the nearest threat to the welfare of the prince. The sword clatters on the ground. The third man lifts Noctis’ collar up and drags him forward until Noctis is standing on the tips of his socked toes.

“You wanna tell me why we’re here to drag you back?”

“Let go of me!” Noctis rips away from Gladiolus’ hold and stumbles back until he bumps into Ignis. 

“You’ve got some nerve, taking off on us. What the hell is going on?”

“Perhaps we should all sit down and have a civil talk about this,” says Ignis, hoping his voice carries over the alarm and the argument. 

Gladiolus slides his gaze over to Ignis, assessing him. After a few minutes, he grunts. “Yeah, maybe.”

“I think we should hear the prince out,” says Crowe. Ignis glances down the staircase. She no longer has her magic at the ready for an attack. That’s progress, especially when Ignis considers her to be the worst threat among the three.

“Are there any more of you?” asks Ignis.

None of them say anything, which is easy to translate.

“How many?”

Still no answer. Their numbers can’t be significant. From what Ignis remembers of the smaller crafts Prompto fashioned for Regis, they only seat six people. They’ll need a spare seat to bring Noctis back. One must fly the ship, meaning that there’s only the possibility of one other person who has infiltrated _Agarte_.

“Let me find an intercom and have them turn off the alarms,” says Ignis. His movements are slow, his hands stretched up and away from his daggers as reassurance that he doesn’t plan to attack. He finds the nearest receiver in the hallway and presses down on it. A static version of his voice blasts out throughout the ship. “Prompto, please shut off the alarms.”

He releases the button. A few seconds later, the orange flashes and blaring noises cut.

“Is everything all right?” asks Prompto through the intercom.

“No, it isn’t, but stay where you’re at. If I could have Weskham join us in the lounge?”

“I’ll send him over.”

“Weskham _Armaugh_?” asks Gladiolus.

“Yes, the very same.”

Gladiolus grunts. “Fine. But if you try anything, I swear—”

“I won’t harm your prince,” Ignis promises. “And I won’t harm any of you unless we need to defend ourselves. At present, we consider Noctis as part of our crew.”

Gladiolus’ lip curled into a sneer. “Yeah?”

“He’s right, Gladio,” the prince snaps.

Ignis stalls so he doesn’t have to take lead on the way to the lounge. Part of his request for Weskham lies in not only in his potential to help cool the potential fire that might break out, but to give Weskham time to catch up in the rear. If Ignis turns his back to the three who pursued Noctis, they could easily overtake him and have the prince in Insomnia by the end of tomorrow—while _Agarte_ sinks to the bottom of the ocean with her crew inside.

Crowe takes notice of his delay. “Come on, show us this lounge of yours.”

Ignis doesn’t have to wait long for Weskham to join. He catches up while before they’re halfway to the bar. Everyone but Ignis turns at the sound of his shoes tapping down the grated stairs.

“Shit, that _is_ Weskham Armaugh.”

“Claru—no, you must be his son.” Weskham’s slip-up sounds intentional, something to impress the Shield. “You look almost exactly like Clarus at his age, Gladiolus. I haven’t seen you since you were a boy.”

“Yeah? I remember you.” Gladiolus nods. “So why’re you on this ship?”

“I’m a bartender now. I sought a quieter life.”

“I heard you were having an affair with Claustra.”

“That’s nonsense.”

Ignis holds back a snort. While he knows Weskham isn’t having sexual relations with Camelia, he does spend enough time with her when they’re stopped in Accordo to fuel the rumors. He suspects this is a ruse to distract from his actual affair; a handsome younger man who works for Camelia and whose clothes have been picked up off the carpet of _Agarte’s_ suites more than once.

In the lounge, Crowe drops herself into one of the booths. Someone with her magic skills doesn’t need to be at full guard when the mere snap of her fingers could summon a blast to take any of them out. Nyx slides in beside her while Gladiolus leans against the booth and watches Weskham.

“Anyone want a drink?” asks Weskham, taking glasses down from the cabinet. “I’ll get you anything you like.”

“Cola,” says Crowe while Nyx and Gladiolus shake their heads.

Ignis and Noctis sit across from them, Noctis closest to the window. The prince settles the sword across his lap. 

“I’ll take a coffee, thank you,” says Ignis, fleetingly remembering his chamomile tea. It will have chilled by now, and what use is it to avoid caffeine when he’ll be up late trying to keep the entire ship alive?

“You wanna tell me what this is about, Noct?” asks Gladiolus.

“Not really,” replies the prince, and he spares a quick glance at Ignis.

Ignis’ curiosity in this situation no longer matters. “If you expect them to let you stay on this ship, I suggest you tell them why you left home.”

Gladiolus snorts. “Stay on this ship? No way. We’re hauling his ass back to Insomnia, whether he likes it or not.”

“You’re not taking me back!” Noctis’ fist bangs against the table. “I’m tired of being treated like my father’s _tool_. And I’m no longer the only one who’s tired of it.” His eyes lower, tears soaking his bottom lashes. Sympathy tugs at Ignis’ chest. 

“Is this about Princess Lunafreya?” asks Gladiolus.

“Neither of us wants this wedding, but Dad says if he helps Tenebrae, he wants a marriage to unite the kingdoms. I’m not dating anyone, and he says I’m too old to be unwed.”

The prince, if Ignis remembers correctly, is only twenty-four. For a member of the royal family, that is beyond the age they’re expected to marry and produce heirs. Arranged marriages are almost unheard of, but with Niflheim and Lucis on the brink of war…

“Your father wants you to wed the princess and use her family’s magic with yours against Niflheim,” says Ignis, putting the pieces together. It would make sense—children born from the blood of the two blessed families would be almost unstoppable. Their borrowed power, too, would mean Niflheim wouldn’t stand a chance when their children grew to adulthood.

“She doesn’t love me,” Noctis hisses out. “We’ve been friends since we were children, but we…” Noctis breaks off, his fists trembling on the table. “My parents married out of love. Why can’t Luna and I do the same?”

Out of impulse—or perhaps all the years he comforted Prompto—Ignis reaches out and sets his palm across Noctis’ knuckles. His fingers caress the skin, and he can feel the tension release from them. And something else, too, like the still-hot embers of magic snapping and sparking around the prince.

Gladiolus notices and narrows his eyes, but Ignis only locks gazes with him, daring him to tell him not to comfort the shaken prince when his own shield has failed to do so. Ignis has always taken care of people. He will not stand for them to hurt if it is within his power to do something to help.

The gesture works. Noctis’ hands shake less, fingers uncurling. Fresh tears trickle down his cheeks, but he relaxes his back against the booth. The oppressive magic fades.

“Drink something,” says Weskham. He looks specifically at Noctis as he slides a cola across the table.

Noctis uses his left hand to grab the drink and takes a sip through the straw. Ignis stirs a cube of sugar into his coffee. 

“Dad’s changed,” says Noctis after some time. “Niflheim has him scared, but I’m not a tool for him to use against them.”

“You were born a prince,” says Gladiolus. “You don’t get to have a say. I don’t either, but you don’t see me complaining.”

“You can marry whoever you want! Your love life isn’t part of your duty, as long as you eventually have an heir—and if you don’t, well, Iris might.”

Nyx leans forward, arms folded on the table. “It sucks when the King does something you don’t agree with. I think I’m feeling sorry for the little prince.”

Ignis senses this Kingsglaive member isn’t as invested in this rescue operation. If he can be convinced to side with Noctis, perhaps Crowe will also back off. The problem is Gladiolus.

“Has King Regis done something to displease you?” asks Ignis, hoping to pick a scab until it bleeds. 

Nyx shrugs a shoulder.

“Dad recruited people to the Kingsglaive from Galahd,” says Noctis. “That’s where Nyx and Crowe are from. Only there were some monster issues in the area a few months ago…”

“King Regis didn’t send anyone out,” says Nyx. “If we’d gone back to protect our homeland, he could’ve cut our magic and locked us up for going rogue. At least we managed to save up enough to offer a bounty—hunters took care of the issue after that.”

“I don’t understand why he didn’t send anyone,” says Noctis. “This isn’t like my dad.”

“This is King Regis,” says Weskham. “He’s not your father, then—he’s the king of his people. That means marrying his son to Princess Lunafreya and hoping Galahd will endure a few fiends while he focuses his attention on Niflheim. He’s a king before a father or a friend, and he must sometimes make seemingly ruthless decisions. That said, I admit it’s quite unfair for him to arrange a marriage for his son, as beneficial as your union could be in preventing a war.”

Nyx grunts and turns to Crowe. “What do you think? Should we have Libertus weigh in his opinion?”

Crowe taps her fingers against the table and takes a long drink of her cola. After a while, she nods. “Call Libertus.”

Nyx turns to Weskham. “Can we dock our ship in yours?”

Weskham nods. “I’ll contact the bridge.” He disappears behind the bar to use the system phone rather than public intercom system.

Nyx taps a button on the communicator strapped to his wrist. “Hey, Libertus? Time to dock. We have to talk.”

“What’s going on in there?”

“Come on board and find out.” Nyx grins up at Ignis. “Why don’t you take us to your hanger?”

“Very well.” Ignis steals a final sip from his coffee before he stands. He considers taking it with him so he might finish it—he’ll need the caffeine to stay up for what he suspects is going to be a long night. Not that Weskham would allow any of the dishes to leave the lounge. “Follow me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I knew this would get political on me before I started it, especially when I brought Galahd up, but oh well. Here's hoping I did okay with handling that? I did like writing the budding tactician in Ignis, tho! I hope that's...evident. xD
> 
> Please, if you can, let me know what you think? ^^


	5. Chapter 5

Noctis wants to sleep for ten years. Instead, he sits in the lounge, drinking enough soda to have replaced his blood with sugar, while everyone explains to Libertus what is going on.

“Well, if the prince doesn’t want to marry Princess Lunafreya…”

Libertus _seems_ cooperative. The Kingsglaive members are all far more hesitant to drag Noctis back than Gladiolus is.

“Couldn’t you work this out back home?” presses Gladiolus.

“I tried that, but Dad wouldn’t listen to me,” says Noctis. He holds back a yawn, which makes his eyes water. It probably seems like he’s crying. He will, if they don’t wrap this up soon and let him go to bed. “Please, Gladio. You have to understand.”

“Why not stay on board until Altissia?” suggests Ignis. “It’ll give you time to consider what Noct has said. You can make your decision and announce it when we land.”

“Sounds good to me,” says Nyx. “Where do we crash for the night?”

“We have plenty of rooms. I’ll take you to them.”

Ignis produces enough keycards for everyone. Noctis follows behind in the hallways and is escorted back to his room last. He figures out Ignis is trying to hide which room he’s staying in, so he keeps his mouth shut when they pass it twice without stopping. The rooms Gladiolus and the Kingsglaive members are given are down another hall; they can’t even spy out their doors to find out which one Noctis sleeps behind.

Noctis’ eyelids droop as he swipes his keycard through the scanner. 

“I suggest you lock the doors tightly, Noct,” Ignis whispers. “I don’t think they’ll try anything tonight, but it would be in your best interest to make the task harder for them.”

“Thanks.” Noctis wants to reach out for Ignis—convince him to stay. He doesn’t want to spend the night alone, unprotected. Something about Ignis gives him comfort. It’s as if the man has a natural gift for easing his mind.

“Goodnight,” says Ignis.

Noctis doesn’t say anything as he watches him disappear down the hall. He clicks the door shut and latches it securely, and then goes to check the lock on the door out to the balcony. He rips aside the shower curtain as he brushes his teeth to make sure there’s no one hiding behind it. It’s a silly thought that anyone could have snuck in; the magic the Kingsglaive and Gladiolus use can’t send them through walls. They’ll have to find one of the other keycards if they want to break inside.

Noctis slides into bed, wearing the pajama bottoms Ignis lent him. They’re a little long in the leg, but he likes how soft they are. He slides under the comforter after adjusting the recently discovered thermostat.

His fatigue makes his eyes heavy, and he barely hits the pillow before he slips away into his dreams.

~*~

Luna watches an airship port at the aerodrome. The gardens outside her bedroom window overlook the cliffside, the stone railing holding firm as she leans against it. Patrons gather on the bridge, from one island to the next, seeking to stay in or leave Tenebrae. 

They’re going on vacations or visiting families or leaving for new jobs. They’re living their lives as best they can. For every person who leaves, they’re replaced with someone else, a hopeful soul looking to seek out a life in their lush land.

She envies them. They have a power she does not—a freedom to come and go as they please. Her mother speaks of a wedding. She’s already been fitted for the gown, and if not for her respect for the dressmaker and the quick kiss they shared, she would rip it from its mannequin until it rested in unidentifiable tatters on her floor.

It sits beside her wardrobe, waiting for her leave to Insomnia.

But Noctis delayed it. For _her_ sake. She’s in shock from the news, but she’s also grateful to him for putting a pause on an event neither of them wants.

They’re dear friends. Best friends. But they’re not lovers. When they were seventeen and twenty-one, they sat beneath the arbor, stealing grapes from the vine and fancying other people. Luna met Crowe during that visit—had fallen in love with every lock that strayed from her inverted bun, the floating laughter that followed her jokes, and the way her fingers brushed against Luna’s lips.

Luna will not bed with Noctis. He doesn’t want that either, having admitted that his eyes had drifted over many a man and lingered too long. 

Still, the letter embarrasses her. She is twenty-eight, confident in her determination and intelligence, and she allowed her feelings to dominate over the words she wrote. There was no diplomacy, only passion. 

She remembers bits of what she wrote.

_Do you remember those days in the garden, when we would talk of those we fancied, and our affections were never for each other?_

_Please speak with your father. Cancel this farce. Make him understand the error of a union between our two families. Such power should never be combined; our children would suffer the burden of too much power—and then, would Niflheim be the threat to the people, or would our offspring?_

She loves Noctis. They held hands as children, playing in the halls of the palace and teasing Ravus until he chased them. But Noctis is like a distant brother who comes to see her sometimes, who was always so much shorter and far less experienced in the world. While she learned to read and write, he couldn’t walk.

The age difference doesn’t mean so much to her now as it did then, but it’s hard to think of him as separate from that little boy she will always be fond of.

He even ran away. The weight of duties, as often as he complained of them, never pushed him to that. She feels responsible. All she asked was for him to speak with King Regis while she worked things out on her end. Now he’s missing. The king thinks he’s been kidnapped, but Luna knows better. Still, she keeps her mouth shut. She will not aid in finding Noctis.

Where _is_ Noctis? And if he has gone there, why should he come back? The stench of war envelops her little country, but why should he pay the price to save it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was a bit of a short chapter. I wanted to write Luna's side, because she hasn't been forgotten. I'm working on chapter seven, now, so...I'm not sure if I'll post six yet? I like to be a chapter or two ahead of what I post. :')
> 
> Feel free to let me know what you think. :D


	6. Chapter 6

Prompto hums as he strolls into the lounge. It is bright and early in the morning, and while there are no birds singing outside his window as they used to when he grew up in Lucis, he fills in the emptiness with tunes of his own.

“Morning.”

Prompto cuts off, heart leaping up into his throat too high to let any noise come out—anything but a helpless squeak. He turns to the source of the greeting.

It’s _that_ guy. The one that’s not Kingsglaive, whose arms are the inked wingspan of a giant bird. Prompto admired the tattoo the night before last, when he first boarded the ship. Prompto didn’t see him at all yesterday, having spent most of the day on patchwork. Two different windows were broken from the invasion. They could have used a door. It isn’t like they’re _locked_. Even if they were, that doesn’t appear to keep the wrong people out. When they’re easy to enter, people like Noctis walk through them.

And Prompto likes Noctis. Not that he minds this guy, even if he’s an intimidating sort. But he’s also the kind that makes Prompto’s eyes linger on every muscle, makes his gaze drift to places it shouldn’t.

“Forgot we were on board?” asks Gladiolus when Prompto doesn’t answer. He grins. “Sorry if I scared you.”

“I remembered,” says Prompto, sliding into the booth across from Gladiolus. He isn’t used to sitting on this side of the lounge—he prefers the area along the windows, so he can look out and see what his hard work has earned him. There isn’t a day that goes by where he isn’t relieved that _Agarte_ has kept them in the air this long.

It carries the people he considers family, and he relies on the ship to keep them safe. Knowing it almost didn’t worries him. He’ll need to consider better security measures if Regis sends out more people to find Noctis.

“I can’t believe you’re Prompto Argentum,” says Gladiolus, shaking his head. He’s grinning—he’s less intense than he was the night before last. “You’re nothing like the rumors.”

“Noct said that, too.” Prompto laughs. “I’m not a warlock. I can’t use magic at all.”

“So you built this entire ship?” 

“Yeah, she’s all my idea, with some construction help from Cindy.”

“That’s amazing. I’m surprised you have such a small crew.”

“Well, she’s supposed to have more passengers, and then I could hire staff…” There are multiple licenses for their business and serving liquor that sit in the main office, and all of them would collect dust if Ignis didn’t clean on a regular basis. “Someday. Maybe.”

“Hey, I’m sorry. About all of this.” Gladiolus waves his hand around in the air helplessly. “Didn’t mean for Noct to cause you all this trouble.”

“He’s not causing any!” His _pursuers_ did, but Prompto would rather forgive and put that behind them. “You call him ‘Noct’, too?” 

“Yeah. Most people don’t, but I’ve known him since we were kids.” Gladiolus sighs. “We didn’t always get along. We’re not getting along now. I didn’t mean to say all that crap to him the other night.” He glances over his shoulder at the bar. “Hey, think I could get something to drink?”

Prompto bounces to his feet. “Sure, what do you want?”

“Coffee, I guess.”

“Sure.” Prompto could use a cup as well. “Is anyone else around? Have you see them?”

“That guy in the glasses—Ignis, was it? He’s in the kitchen, says he’ll make breakfast. Crowe’s not up yet, but Nyx and Libertus are hanging out with Cindy. Turns out when our ship hit yours, we sustained some damage.”

“Next time don’t hit my ship?” The idea of _Agarte_ being damaged in any way makes Prompto want to chew his nails off, back and forth like they’re the carriage release on a typewriter and his teeth are the typebars.

Prompto notices a fresh pot of coffee in the maker. Good, he can never make a batch the same way Ignis does. It’s still hot and steaming when he pours it.

“Do you want sugar? Cream?”

“One cube, maybe a quick drop of cream?” Gladiolus watches him fulfill his order. “I’d ask you to add hard liquor, but it’s too early in the morning.”

Prompto stirs in two sugar cubes and two tablespoons of cream in his own cup before returning to the table. 

“Why a luxury ship?” asks Gladiolus after he takes a sip of coffee. He runs his finger along the handle of the cup. “You could’ve made a personal vessel, would’ve been cheaper.”

“Then she wouldn’t be _Agarte_.” Prompto strokes his fingers along the upholstery in the space next to him, feeling the threads that embroidered its pattern rise like welts out of the fabric. “I wanted her to be something special, a place where families could enjoy their time together.”

“Family is important,” agrees Gladiolus.

“I wouldn’t…” Prompto sucks in a shaky breath. “My family is here on board with me, so that’s a start.” 

Gladiolus doesn’t say anything for a while. He takes a few sips of his coffee, casting a few impatient glances toward the kitchen doors.

“I can tell Iggy to hurry.” Prompto starts to scoot off his seat.

"It’s okay, you don’t have to do that. I can wait.” Gladiolus reaches out and set a hand over his to stop him. The touch sends a jolt through Prompto's heart, and he slides away, letting his wrist fall against his thigh.

“What’s your relationship to him?” asks Gladiolus. “You say you’re all family. Are you…?”

“A couple?” Prompto lets out a startled snort of laughter. “No, Ignis is like my brother! We grew up together.” 

He’s not sure how the words tumble out, without filter, especially when he’s talking to someone for the first time. Gladiolus makes him feel invited to chat—there’s no indication he’s exasperated as Prompto continues.

“My parents abandoned me when I was six. Iggy’s uncle found me wandering around Cartanica, trying to steal food off the trains. He brought me on board as he was headed back to Lucis. Sat me next to Iggy in the dining car and told me to order whatever I wanted, that he’d pay…” Prompto shrugs and begins to bite at his nails. “We were both orphans, you see. Iggy lost his parents when he was four. We didn’t have anyone else but his uncle for years. And then, when his uncle died, we only had each other.”

“How old were you? When his uncle died?” Gladiolus’ voice is soft.

“Fifteen. About nine years ago.”

Gladiolus reaches across the table, snagging Prompto’s wrist. His grip is tight, and when Prompto tries to pull away, it doesn’t work. His thick fingers spread out Prompto’s. 

“You’re bleeding,” he says. “You always bite your nails this bad?”

“No. Just when I’m nervous.” Prompto grins. “It’s no biggie. It’s just been a little too exciting around here lately.”

Gladiolus slides out of the booth, hand still around Prompto’s. He tugs him to his feet and leads him over to the bar. Prompto doesn’t say anything as Gladiolus stands before the sink and begins rinsing away the blood, using the soap nearby to work a lather over the fingers. The lather turns a ruddy color, but it rinses away cleanly. 

“Got any bandages?” asks Gladiolus.

“Yeah.” Prompto uses his free hand to point to the cabinet that hides their first aid kit. 

Gladiolus retrieves it, popping it open on the bar cabinet. For someone whose entire body is built of muscle, he’s gentle and fluid in his movements. He sifts through the first aid kit until he finds two bandages, one for each bleeding finger. The damage isn’t bad, but a thin line of blood pools along the jagged nails. Gladiolus smears a dollop of disinfectant over each of them before he wraps them.

“There!” He lets out a soft grunt in triumph. He glances up at Prompto for a second before his gaze slides beyond his shoulder. “Oh, hey.”

Prompto turns. Ignis raises an eyebrow as he stands beside a rolling cart filled with trays of breakfast food.

“Should I summon everyone over the intercom?” asks Ignis.

“Noct won’t be awake yet,” says Gladiolus. “I’ll go do that…”

Gladiolus drops Prompto’s hand. Before he can leave, however, Ignis reaches out a hand to stop him. 

“Room 204,” says Ignis, pulling out a keycard. “I trust you’ll bring him here and return the card to me?”

Gladiolus tucks the card in his pocket. “Sure thing.”

Once Gladiolus leaves, Ignis turns to Prompto. He’s frowning, the caretaker in him emerging. 

Prompto plays with the edge of one of his bandages. “Um, how long were you there?”

“While he was washing your hands. Biting your nails again, were you?” Ignis gives him the _‘what am I going to do with you?’_ look—Prompto’s been on the receiving end of it for almost a decade now, with no one else to take care of him. “We need to find something else for you to focus your stress on. Perhaps something else for you to chew on? Redirection might have more effect than trying to stop completely.”

“I don’t know.” Prompto points to all the dishes. “You made enough for an army?”

“I think Gladio could eat half of this on his own, and those Kingsglaive members could finish the rest of it off. You should hurry and take some while you can.” 

“Yeah, okay.” Prompto could get used to Ignis fixing meals this big. He towers strawberries and syrup onto his pancakes, eager to let the taste rinse out the blood in his mouth. 

It’s clear that their life on _Agarte_ could get more exciting—at least for another day. They’re over the mountains of Accordo, and it won’t be long before they dock in Altissia. 

He’ll be sad to see Gladiolus go if the shield decides to take a boat back to Insomnia. 

~*~

“Hey, Noct.” Gladiolus shakes Noctis’ arm. A few seconds later, it tries to snake up and hit him. Years of practice help him dodge. “Don’t you want breakfast?”

About the time he says it, the intercom system crackles on, and Ignis’ voice says, “Breakfast in the lounge. There’s enough for everyone.” The sound cuts.

“Don’t care,” moans Noctis, diving head-first into his pillow.

“Ain’t you a part of this crew now?”

“Yeah…” Noctis rolls over and blinks up at Gladiolus. “What’s it to you? You don’t want me here.”

Gladiolus grunts. That’s only partially true. Noctis is connecting with people, something he didn’t do except as a child. He had gone from an active child to someone more reserved—the result of a boy who had wanted attention from his father and couldn’t have it. His mother died when he was only a toddler, leaving him with no one close. Gladiolus didn’t see him often until the prince was nearly ten years old. If he had only been around Noctis more often before that, maybe…

No, it’s too late to think about what-ifs and what-might’ve-beens. What matters is that in only a few days, Noctis has gained the loyalty of a crew willing to fight for him. To risk death for him. And he was even willing to take up arms against his father’s people in exchange. 

Gladiolus pushes Noctis’ feet aside and sits on the edge of the bed. “It’s nice here.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry about those things I said the other night. You’re right. I don’t have to worry about an arranged marriage.” Gladiolus rubs at the stubble along his jawline. “The people on this ship are nice. I remember seeing Weskham around the Citadel when I was a kid, before he left the council.”

“Is that right?”

“Yeah. Heard about Cid, too…”

“Know why he had a falling out with my dad?”

“Nah, my dad never said. Guess I’ll have to ask him some time.”

Noctis sits up, stretching. “Are you going back to Insomnia tomorrow?”

Gladiolus thinks of the nail biting blond and the man with the spectacles, both waiting on him to bring Noctis to breakfast. “I might stay.”

“Really?” Noctis grins.

“The people on this ship…they’re interesting. And I’m your shield. I should keep an eye out on you. Keep you out of trouble.”

Noctis launches a pillow at him, but Gladiolus intercepts it with a half-hearted lift of the arm. 

“I can look out for myself just fine.”

“I think the crew here would be glad to help. How’d you get so close to them in a couple of days? Weskham says they found you sleeping in a damn storage closet.”

Noctis slides out of bed. He’s only in his underwear, but he grabs his clothes—the same ones he wore yesterday—off a shelf and tugs them on. 

“You have any clothes, Noct?”

Noctis snorts. “No, Ignis washed these for me last night. And the night before that…”

“That Ignis guy has his shit together.” Gladiolus can’t help but be impressed. Almost no one can keep after Noctis, much less have time for others after that. “He cooked us breakfast. All of us.”

“Prom says he likes cooking. He made some amazing cupcakes. You should ask if you can try one.”

A man who can make cupcakes and breakfast and comfort Noctis when his emotions start to affect his magic? Ignis seems almost unhuman in efficiency. And the man doesn’t even have magic powers to do it. Maybe those rumors about Prompto are misconceptions because he has people like Ignis on board.

Gladiolus likes them, despite his initial belief they were all kidnappers. He’s not sure he trusts them yet, but they seem like honorable people. And if Noctis isn’t going to leave their side, then he doesn’t plan on doing so either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ignoct is like my sun that I orbit around, but for some reason that's the only pairing that's taking its time, ugh. Prompto and Gladio just met, and they're going faster! (But I do love that Gladio tends to Prompto's fingers... ;A; )
> 
> Feel free to let me know what you think, if you want.  
> I'm also mcalhen on tumblr and twitter. C:


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like ignoct, well. Here's a chapter for them! About time, right?! :'D
> 
> Thank you so far for reading and for the lovely comments I've been getting. This story is admittedly my favorite to work on right now, and I'm invested in it. Having others enjoy it means a lot to me!

Noctis loves Altissia immediately. The airship docks at the aerodrome, built high among the mountains and over the waterfalls. It gives him a good view of the city below. He used to beg his father to take him to Altissia during the moogle chocobo carnival as a child. As he grew older, his interest in fishing increased, but Regis always told him to find someplace close to the city for his hobby. 

“Wonderful view,” says Ignis approvingly, looking out the aerodrome window beside him. 

There is so much to see in the world. Noctis’ life as a prince has kept him mostly captive by obligation and safety protocol, his sightseeing reduced to whatever restrictions the Crownsguard established. 

He didn’t run away to see the world, but it’s a perk.

“I’ll take you shopping while Gladiolus contacts your father,” says Ignis. “Do you mind if I recommend some shops?”

“What about the gil?” Noctis has barely done anything aboard _Agarte_ to pay his way—he doubts he’s contributed enough work to cover the meals they’ve served him. “You’ve been shadowing me more than I’ve shadowed you.”

“To protect you,” says Ignis. “In case the others decided to whisk you away against your will. I was most concerned about Gladio, but he seems to have had a change of heart.”

“He’s a little gruff sometimes, but I guess he cares about me.” Noctis’s mouth twitches into a smile for a minute. “Since my dad will know we’re in Altissia when they contact him, will it matter if we’re using my cards?”

“Maybe not. You can try them.”

The streets are packed with people and kiosks. Noctis follows Ignis through the crowds, trying to avert his gaze from the tasty foods that already tempt him enough by their aroma. There are less people when they reach the shopping district. Ignis passes the more expensive clothing stores and strolls into one that offers quality secondhand garments—the type that won’t accept donations unless they’re designer brands. It’s a place for rich people to dump their once-worn clothing that has expired out of fashion circles.

Since no one who can afford better would want to wear these things again—if they ever wore them at all—the clothing is cheap.

“Is this where you shop?” asks Noctis, passing a display of waistcoats. 

“Yes.”

“Who tailors your outfits?” Noctis finds it hard to believe that Ignis would luck into clothing that fits him immaculately without some adjustments being made to it first.

“I do it myself. I can tailor yours, if you’d like.”

“What _can’t_ you do?” 

“I can’t build an airship. I still have trouble creating the perfect macarons—I can never get the shape right.” He smiles.

Noctis chuckles as he begins shuffling through a rack of black slacks. “I’m sure you’ll cross that off your bucket list soon enough.”

“Building an airship? Oh no, I’m afraid I’d be lost if you handed me a screwdriver or a wrench. I can deal with simple fixes—like a leaky faucet—but if I need a handyman, I call Prompto.” There’s a playful twinkle in Ignis’ eyes. After a beat, he adds, “Yes, I suppose eventually I’ll manage to perfect my macarons. Will you be my judge?”

“I do love sweets…” 

“You can be our crew’s official taste tester for sweets, then. Prompto will eat anything I make, but sweets are his least favorite.”

“Who doesn’t like sweets?” Noctis glances up from the pants to make a face at Ignis.

Ignis grimaces. “That might be my fault. When we were little, I used money my uncle gave me to buy us treats—a tremendous amount of them. Prompto got an awful stomachache and spend the rest of the day throwing up. He was even more distraught when I was reprimanded.”

Noctis can think of instances when he did something similar, but the upset tummy had been worth it. “How old were you?”

“I was almost ten, and Prompto was seven.”

“Your uncle should have known a couple of kids would blow their money on sweets.”

Ignis snorts. “Well, he did apologize to us afterward for having put too much responsibility on me.”

“Are you brothers? Cousins?” Noctis can’t see a physical resemblance in the two, but he has met plenty of siblings who have looked nothing alike but have the same two parents.

“Not in the biological sense, no, but we are brothers.” Ignis waves Noctis over to another rack of pants. They’re jeans—practical, enduring. Casual. “Do you always wear black?”

“Habit.”

“So I’ve noticed.” Ignis whips through the jeans until he pauses on a dark-washed pair. “How about these?”

Noctis glances at the size tag. Can Ignis take one look at him and know his sizes?

Ignis takes them off the rack and stuffs them in his arms, and then flips through more pairs. “We’ll go somewhere else for pajamas. And we’ll need to get you some underwear and socks. Do you prefer casual, or would you like some formal clothing?”

“Casual, please.”

Ignis whisks a shirt off one of the racks and pushes the shoulders of the garment against Noctis’, eyes narrowed. “We could take in the sleeves a bit, but try this on. You would look stunning in it.”

 _Stunning_. Noctis tries not to dwell on his wording. “It’s black…”

“We’ll find some color to balance it out.”

Ignis fills Noctis’ arms with different shirts and pants, all a variety but still favorable toward darker tones. It’s nice not to have to think about the clothing, either—Noctis has always hated shopping, and this lessens his suffering.

Ignis remains on the other side of the door while Noctis tries on each item. 

“I’d like to see how they fit,” says Ignis.

“You can come in, if you want.” Noctis pushes aside the door. “There’s plenty of room.”

Ignis steps in. His fingers are gentle but firm as they guide Noctis around in front of the mirror. He adjusts the collars, messes with the fabric at the sleeves, tutting at the hem of one shirt in dismay.

“Thanks for your help,” says Noctis as he sheds a dissatisfying pair of pants. “It goes a lot faster this way.”

“Do you like buying clothes?”

“Not really.” Noctis smirks. “Is it that hard to tell?”

“No.” Ignis chuckles. 

They take a handful of purchases to the register, leaving the rejects behind in the fitting room. Noctis pulls out his card and swipes, teeth gritted. His heart beats high in his throat, sinking back to the pit of his stomach when the screen flashes the words “DENIED” in bright red.

“Pity,” says Ignis, pulling out his own wallet. “I’ll cover it for now.”

“Are you sure?” asks Noctis.

“This means I can have my pajamas back, and I won’t have to stay up late doing your laundry every night.” Ignis smirks at him as he passes his card over to the cashier. 

His joking demeanor vanishes once they’ve paid and are standing outside. Ignis firmly takes hold of Noctis’ arm and guides him over to a quiet street corner, where there aren’t many people.

“Noctis, the denial of your card—you know what this means?”

“Yeah, my dad cut me off.”

“It means he knows you weren’t kidnapped, that you left of your own volition.”

No, Regis would never… 

“Why would he tell the glaives and Gladio I was kidnapped, then?”

“I have some idea, given how there was no doubt you were on board _Agarte_. An excuse to have us arrested, especially Prompto. I would like to find out what their exact orders were.”

Noctis feels sick with resentment, his joy at being in Altissia souring in his stomach. He takes into account what Weskham said, about Regis being king before a father, but it doesn’t quell the fury. 

“We’d best hurry with our shopping and meet up with the others,” says Ignis, taking Noctis’ wrist and pulling him back into the crowds.

After Noctis has sufficient clothing, they take a gondola to a bar called Maagho. It’s only accessible by water. All but two of the tables are empty, and Weskham is at the bar, chatting with a young woman. In a far corner of the room, Prompto occupies his own table. Parts of a radio are scattered around him. He spares them a wave before he goes back to his work.

“This place belongs to Weskham,” says Ignis. “A friend of his manages it while he’s away, but think of it as our hideout here in Altissia.”

“Do you have one in every city?” asks Noctis. 

Ignis smiles but doesn’t answer.

“If it’s your hideout, why would you tell the glaives and Gladio where it is?” asks Noctis as he takes a stool and glances over the menu. 

“Don’t let on that I own it,” says Weskham. He turns to the woman behind the bar. “A cola and two coffees, please. We’ll order lunch once the others arrive.”

It doesn’t take them long—twenty minutes later, their gondola slides parallel to the dock. Everyone clambers out, looking out of place even though none of them are wearing their official uniforms. Unlike Noctis, they thought to pack extra clothing. 

“How’d it go?” asks Noctis as they seat themselves around the bar. “Did you get through to my dad?”

“Yeah.” Gladiolus plops into the stool next to Noctis. “Prompto helped Libertus find the parts we needed and fix the communicator in our ship.” He sighs and scratches the stubble along his jaw. “Our dads aren’t happy.”

“Clarus was there?”

“Yeah, chewed me out for not dragging you back—they both said it was for your own good. I told them you’d probably come around, you just need some time.”

The taste of cola in Noctis’ mouth mixes with the bile working its way up his throat. He rinses it down with another forceful sip. “And my dad agreed to that?”

“Not immediately. Um, Noct. About the princess…”

“Is Luna okay?!”

Gladiolus gestures for him to lower his voice. “She’s missing, too. Disappeared sometime yesterday. No one knows where she went.”

Tenebrae can’t be an easy land to leave without being noticed. The islands are well guarded, the local officials careful to check the background of anyone who enters or leaves. And Luna has never struck Noctis as someone capable of running away. He can barely believe he dared to—he had sometimes considered it in the past, but he always swallowed down the temptation. It wasn’t until Luna’s letter that he realized how desperate the situation had become for them both. 

“Anyway, the king figures if she’s missing, too, there’s no rush in bringing you back.” Gladiolus shrugs and begins leafing through one of the menus. “Can’t get married without the bride, right?”

“Right…” Noctis would prefer to know where Luna is, though, if only to know how she is doing and what she is up to. “She wasn’t…kidnapped instead?” He feels sick, and he shuts his menu. Maybe he needs more cola, to swallow down the nasty taste building up in the back of his throat.

“No, she left a note, and Queen Sylva identified her hand writing. No one thinks she’s been taken. Who’d take her?”

“I don’t know. Why would anyone on the _Agarte_ take me?” 

Gladiolus lets out a soft grunt of agreement. Yesterday, he mellowed out considerably over the situation, and he doesn’t seem that tense now.

“What about the glaives?” asks Noctis. “Was Dad upset about them defying orders?”

“It never came up. They’re supposed to remain with you on the king’s orders, until he either tells them to drag you back by your ear or you come home on your own. And he wants them to keep an eye on Prompto, too.” Gladiolus glances up from his menu, casting his eyes toward the corner where the young genius is nearly finished with rebuilding the radio.

Noctis catches the barest hint of a smile before Gladiolus returns to the menu. His eyes don’t move over the words, however, and he remains on the same page for several minutes.

_Oh._

“You’re into him,” Noctis whispers. 

Gladiolus ignores him. “Think I’ll have the lasagna.” He flips the menu closed and summons over the woman behind the bar before Noctis can say anything else.

They’ll be on the same ship together for a while. There is plenty of time to ask Gladiolus about his twitterpated gaze at Prompto. It might be interesting, too, to see how it turns out. It does lean in Noctis’ favor. Is this the reason Gladiolus stopped putting up a fight about staying on _Agarte_?

Is that why he apologized to Noctis for the harsh words he said that night? The thought stings, but that isn’t like the shield. If Gladiolus thought he should be pissed at Noctis, he would have _stayed_ pissed.

But it only serves to prove that Gladiolus has the freedom to fall in love with anyone he wants, while Noctis—once the runaway bride and groom are reunited—will marry someone he only sees as a dear friend because his father forced it.

~*~

Ignis knocks on the door of Noctis’ suite. He has been so caught up in taking care of other people’s laundry that he found himself short on clean pajamas. He washed the ones he lent Noctis and set them on the counter that afternoon, along with all the new ones the prince acquired.

Noctis opens the door. “Oh, hey.” He steps aside, throwing the door open a few more inches to allow Ignis to enter. 

“I came to get my pajamas,” says Ignis.

Noctis snaps his fingers. “Right.”

He retrieves them out of the wardrobe and hands them over. 

“I should have taken them out when I folded and put them away…”

Noctis snorts. “No big deal. You have them now.”

“Indeed.”

There’s a pause, uncomfortably long, and Ignis realizes he should go. There’s no reason for him to linger. What would they talk about? Perhaps tailoring, but Ignis is tired, and he still wants to have a chat with Prompto before he goes to bed. He’s running low on caffeine, having opted for another attempt at chamomile tea. It has been a long and troubling day. He doesn’t trust King Regis, and he doesn’t know what to make of Gladiolus and the glaives. Caution at every step must be key.

As Ignis turns toward the door, Noctis reaches out and takes a fistful of his sleeve. Ignis’ eyes widen in surprise. It’s a gesture he’s familiar with—Prompto reaching for him when they were but teenagers, mourning the death of their guardian. His instinct to comfort kicks in immediately.

“Is something wrong, Noct?” asks Ignis. 

Noctis’ hand recoils. His stares at the carpet, cheeks flushed. “No, I’m sorry. I just wanted to say thanks for today.”

Ignis chuckles and flaps the folded pajamas in his hand. “It’s no trouble, seeing as I’ve got my pajamas back now.”

“Yeah. They’re nice. I like sleeping in them.” 

Ignis raises an eyebrow. “If I recall, you’ve got your own now. Same material.”

“Ah, I mean…it’s cold in here.”

“Oh, let me adjust the thermostat.” Ignis tucks the pajamas under his arm, but before he can take a step toward the thermostat, Noctis blocks his way, waving his hands frantically. 

“No, I took care of it!” He grimaces and begins messing with the hair at the back of his neck. “I didn’t know I could adjust it, but I found it the other day. I didn’t think it’d get so cold in the airship…”

“It’s hot near the engines, but yes, it’s sometimes a bit cold at night on these upper floors.” Ignis tries to rescue the prince from his awkward flub—but it’s hard to resist teasing him as the color in his cheeks grows rosier. 

By the Six, it’s _cute_.

It can’t be flattering to think of the young prince as adorable. Noctis is no longer a little boy whose father dresses him in stuffy outfits for the public eye. Not only that, but he’s off limits; betrothed to Princess Lunafreya.

“Well, thank you for returning these,” says Ignis. “I have some business to attend to, so if you’ll excuse me…”

It takes all of his self-discipline to bow gracefully out of the room, but he knows it’s fleeing—no matter what other appearances he tries to give his actions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: lots of big reveals involving Luna!
> 
> Feel free to share your thoughts! :3


	8. Chapter 8

Noctis sits across from Prompto at breakfast and tries not to look at Ignis. He mutters a quick word of gratitude before diving into his waffles. He’s sure the blush on his cheeks gives him away, but Ignis blesses him with enough dignity not to mention it.

“One more day in Altissia and then we move on,” says Ignis when everyone in the lounge has been served their breakfast. “If you have anything else you’d like to do, you should see to it before we leave tonight.”

“You wanna come with me today, Noct?” asks Prompto.

“What’re you doing?” Noctis has nothing better scheduled; the dreaded clothing shopping is over with, and there’s not much to do on the airship but sleep. 

“I’m gonna walk around, maybe check out some stores.”

It sounds boring, but it might be fun to hang out with Prompto, get to know him better. 

“Is anyone else going?” Noctis can only hope he throws out the question casually enough.

“I was kind of hoping…” Prompto’s eyes drift to another table, where Gladiolus is telling the glaives about his encounter with a Bandersnatch. He lets out a little squeak and pulls his gaze back to Noctis. “I mean, Ignis is busy with a bunch of stuff on the ship, but I can ask him to come along instead. But if you go with me, maybe one of them—” Prompto nods his head at the table, “—will come with us? ‘Cos I have to have a bodyguard, and so do you.”

“You can’t ask Gl—the glaives to go with you unless you take me?”

“Well, um. They work for the king. I doubt they’d go along with me if you’re not there, even if you asked them. They might not tag along even with you there…”

Prompto’s right; unless the Kingsglaive have a personal reason for joining them, they’re likely to decline. Not that Prompto hides his pining well; it’s clear which person he hopes will accompany them. 

“I’ll ask Gladio,” says Noctis. “He’s my shield, so he _has_ to come.” Not that Gladiolus would give up a chance to go with Prompto anyway—these two are transparent to everyone but each other.

“Oh, right. That’s cool.” Prompto shovels some of his breakfast in his mouth after that, and when he finishes, says, “Weren’t those waffles the best?”

“Yeah.” It’s not an exaggeration, despite Prompto’s overenthusiastic display. Ignis outdoes the best of the royal cooks at the Citadel with every dish he presents. “He could open up a restaurant.”

“This lounge will be his and Weskham’s someday! But we kind of need customers first…”

Noctis vows he’ll do something to help with that, if they can solve this situation with his father. His words of praise will surely sway the people to board _Agarte_. Being royalty doesn’t have many perks, but he’s a walking advertisement for every brand he has worn, every bakery he has stepped into.

After they've finished breakfast, Noctis corners Gladiolus in the hallway outside the lounge.

“Hey, Gladio! I want to explore Altissia while we’re here.”

Gladiolus grunts. “All right, when we going?”

“Any time. Prompto and I are going window shopping.” Noctis smirks at his shield’s second of surprise before Gladiolus tries to regain his composure. “You don’t mind, do you?”

“Didn’t know he was coming along.” Gladiolus doesn’t look him in the eye, making too great a show at feigning indifference. 

“We both need a bodyguard. You can protect us.”

“Fine.” Gladiolus sighs. He’s not much of an actor, his attempts at apathy only revealing how smitten he is with the captain. “But be ready soon. Guess it might be nice to check out Altissia. Didn’t get much of a chance yesterday.”

“I _am_ ready. Prompto said to meet him in the lobby. Wait, where’s the lobby?” Noctis has only seen it once, on the tour Ignis gave him. 

“I think I can find it.” Gladiolus leads, and with his clumsy guidance, they only manage to get lost once. The ship needs maps for every corridor or arrow signs such as the Citadel provides its guests.

Prompto is seated in one of the lobby booths, tinkering with a camera. It hangs around his neck from a strap, black and silver threaded into a checkered pattern. He waves at them as they enter and hops to his feet. 

“Ready to go?” 

Prompto doesn’t window shop as much as he chats about everything he sees around him, whether it be boats or airships or little cactuar figurines. He sniffs the air and brags about how delicious Ignis’ pizza tastes. He aims his camera everywhere—from the passersby to statues to Gladiolus and Noctis. It’s not as if Noctis minds. Gladiolus even poses for shots, puffing his chest and pumping his biceps.

It doesn’t seem to occur to either Prompto or Gladiolus that they might like each other.

“Do you like photography?” asks Noctis. “I saw your dark room.”

“Dark room?” Gladiolus raises an eyebrow.

Prompto fidgets with the zoom and takes a picture of flowers lined up along the sidewalk outside the florist. “Yeah, I wanted to be a photographer someday. Build an airship, travel the world, take pictures of everything.”

“That’s amazing,” says Gladiolus.

Prompto grins. “You think so?”

Noctis feels out of place as he watches their lingering looks at one another before Prompto finally bounces away to take them to a radio supply store. It’s boring, but less so than Noctis thought it would be—at least with Gladiolus along, he gets to watch the two lovesick fools dance around each other. 

Better than fighting. Better than Gladiolus dragging Noctis back to Insomnia. The glaives, Gladiolus, and Noctis have all been more relaxed since boarding the airship. In the Citadel, the gloom of impending war weighed down upon their hearts. No, the war will still threaten them here. It’s something else. Something ligher, hopeful. They can be honest with each other. 

Maybe boarding _Agarte_ was in their destinies.

~*~

Luna taps the button on the communicator. Fuzzy noise blurts out at her before fading away, the signal broken. One of the men sitting at a table nearby lifts his head and stares at her in deep concern. 

“Do you need some help, ma’am?”

“I’m fine, thank you,” she lies. The words roll calm and smooth from her trained tongue, but every nerve in her body is tense with panic. If she could only get through to Crowe. They were meant to share communications at 19:00 hours, but if she doesn’t make it, she’ll have to try again tomorrow.

 _Of course_ she had to crash her stolen airship into a the thick trees in the region of Duscae. The stench of chocobo feed and dung clings to the humid air. Mosquitoes land on the backs of her hands and up her arms, leaving a trail of red, angry evidence that she’s an all-you-can-eat buffet. The blood of the Oracle is tasty and free for the taking.

She’s hesitant to pull out her hairclip and use it to record a message. The battery is low, and the chocobo stables are crowded. The communicator is her best choice for now.

The man from the other table approaches her. She tenses. Although his smile is friendly enough, she doesn’t need someone else getting involved. Or recognizing her.

“Hi, I know you said you’re just fine, but I reckon you’re not. I feel bad ‘bout intruding, but your communicator has a thinned wire in the back. I can replace it and get this puppy runnin’ for you in a minute, if you want.”

Luna’s peers around at the back of the device. The man is right—there’s a little wire that looks worse for wear, and she doesn’t have a spare. Even if she did, she wouldn’t know how to switch them out.

“You’re sure?” Luna checks her watch. She needs it up and running in ten minutes, or she’ll have to rely on the hairclip or wait until tomorrow.

“Yes.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Dave.”

“Thank you, Dave.”

Dave rummages through a bag on his table until he pulls out the replacement and some tools. Luna switches off the communicator and backs away from it to give him space. The process of weeding out the old wire and installing the new one takes only a minute, as promised. Dave slaps the side of the device lightly as he straightens up. 

“Good as new.”

“Thank you.” 

“Glad to help. Let me know if you have any trouble.” He scoops up his tools and returns to his table.

Luna clicks the communicator on. Her mind has made a melody of the memorized numbers that will channel her to Crowe’s device. She pushes down the button after the code has been entered, leaning forward into the microphone.

“Hello?” Her voice is clear—whispering would only make her sound harsh and unintelligible, but she’s worried about all the people nearby who might overhear. Dave seems engrossed in his own device, however, and there’s a couple who’ve broken out in an argument about fresh vegetables. The latter seems to have drawn the attention of everyone else milling about.

Half a minute passes before a tinny voice responds. “There you are.” Crowe’s voice still purrs even through the static.

Luna waits a beat before answering. These devices are always finicky, never liking the crossing of two voices at once. “I crashed.”

“Wait, what? Do you know where you are?”

“Wiz’s Chocobo Post. I can stay here until you pick me up.”

“Yeah, hang tight. I’ll come get you in a couple of days. How’s the battery?”

“Dying.”

“Use a communicator this same time tomorrow. Get a room for a couple of nights. We’re not nearby, and it’ll take a couple of days to get there. I have to go now.”

Luna shuts the communicator off and leans back in her seat. Her body aches from the stress of the crash and the walk to the nearest bit of civilization afterward. She thought Crowe would tell her to rent a chocobo and ride out to meet her, but it’ll be much safer not to travel on the ground in Lucis.

Until then, she can get some rest.

~*~

Prompto rests his head against the tub and sighs. After his bath, he’ll get in a long nap before _Agarte_ takes off for her next destination—the scrapyard in Meldacio, where he can get more parts for a cheap price. Weskham has wrapped up his personal and private business in Altissia. They’ve refueled and Prompto has triple-checked the entire ship to make sure it runs a smooth course.

The door of the bathroom opens as he's leaning his head against the side of the tub, eyes closed. 

“Iggy?” Prompto lifts his head and turns—and then screams, because his visitor is not Ignis. They’re not even Gladiolus. He shifts to hide his private parts, but his introducer doesn’t seem fazed.

“I need you to make a stop in Duscae,” says Crowe, bending down and slapping her hands on the edge of the tub. “It’s on the way, so it shouldn’t be hard.”

“Duscae? Why?”

Crowe takes a deep breath. “I know where Noct’s runaway bride is. We need to pick her up before anyone else does.”

Prompto feels a lot like when he gets ten ideas at once. The thoughts scramble in his brain, and in turn, his words come out a jumble.

“Does Noct—why Luna—how did you—” 

Crowe sighs and rolls her eyes. “Can you please set your navigators so you land somewhere near Wiz’s Chocobo Post? The sooner we pick her up, the better.”

Prompto nods, only a few seconds later realizing that he is agreeing to something he hasn’t discussed with the rest of the crew. “Can I tell anyone…?”

“Yeah, tell whoever you need to. She’s coming on board anyway, so they’re all going to find out eventually. In the morning, I’ll brief everyone on the situation.” Crowe exhales and slaps him on the shoulder gently. “Thank you. This means a lot to me. Sorry for interrupting your bath. And don’t worry, I’m not interested in what’s between your legs.” She laughs, snatching a towel from the rack and tossing it toward him before she closes the door behind her. 

Prompto catches it and buries his red face into the cotton.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm having a blast writing this story. This was a fluffier chapter; I'm a few chapters ahead of this one and it gets darker further in. I hope you enjoy this one, and please feel free to let me know what you think!
> 
> Also, rest in peace, Prom. :(


	9. Chapter 9

It is shaping up to be a morning where Ignis can never have too many cups of coffee. The tensions in the dining room are palpable. It seems to affect everyone. Not all those present know the ship has changed course from Meldacio to the wilderness of Duscae. Ignis is aware; Prompto came to him last night and confessed to changing _Agarte’s_ course at Crowe’s demand. Cindy is apparently in the know, having been in the bridge when Prompto reset the coordinates. 

Crowe eats a few bites of toast before she stands up. She taps a spoon against a glass.

“I need to tell you all something,” she says.

Ignis listens carefully in the hopes of obtaining some valuable bit of information.

“We’re picking up Luna from Wiz’s chocobo post tomorrow.”

While even Crowe’s fellow glaives cry out questions, Ignis stays seated across from Noctis and Prompto, sipping his coffee and studying the situation. He pays careful attention to Crowe’s answers and the reactions of the other Kingsglaive members.

“You mean you’ve been in contact with Luna this whole time?” Noctis cries out, and the slam of his palm against the table makes their dishes rattle.

“You didn’t tell us?” asks Libertus, looking betrayed.

“I’ve been in contact with her for years—in secret, I might add.” Crowe grins at Noctis. “Remember all of those trips to Tenebrae?”

“Oh.” Noctis frowns for a few seconds before his eyes widen. “Damn, how’d I never notice?”

“We’re trained to hide things. It’s not hard to keep a relationship secret when you rarely see each other and live on different continents. I’m the one who told her you were on board this ship.” 

“How did you communicate with her?” asks Ignis. “The one in your ship was down until we reached Altissia, and by then Princess Lunafreya had already left Tenebrae. Did you manage to break into our bridge and use one of ours?”

Crowe smirks. “I think I’ll pass on telling you, but no, I didn’t use a communicator.”

“Did she run away to meet up with me?” asks Noctis.

Crowe nods. “We’re going to get this situation sorted so neither of you has to marry. But we need Luna’s intelligence for it.”

Ignis suspects Noctis never made much use of his tactical training—if he had any—given that he couldn’t be bothered to pack a toothbrush before he left. Not to mention his ill attempt at disguising the true motivation behind his running away. If Crowe’s correct, perhaps the princess will have ways of dealing with Regis that Noctis wouldn’t have considered. 

If Luna boards and they can sort this, Noctis will go home. Ignis should feel relief at the thought, but he tries not to dwell on the empty feeling it leaves in him. No, he’s not disappointed. He won’t miss Noctis. Will he?

No. The feeling is his fear of Regis and only that. What of the Kingsglaives’ orders? With Noctis and Luna safe, will they be directed to imprison or execute everyone on the _Agarte_? Everyone should be more cautious of one another. Crowe easily stormed into Prompto’s bath, and while no harm came to him that time…

Ignis would lecture Prompto again about not locking doors if he hadn’t already done so the night before. 

Ignis takes another sip of coffee. It’s his third cup that morning.

“She’s okay, isn’t she?” asks Noctis. “She wasn’t injured when she crashed?”

Crowe waves off the concern, but beneath her smile, Ignis notices traces of stress. Her eyes are dark from lack of sleep. “She would have told me. I’m sure she’s fine.”

“We’ll be at the ranch tomorrow morning,” says Prompto. “You can ask her yourself!” He slaps Noctis on the shoulder, but the prince doesn’t look comforted.

That still means there are several hours where Luna is vulnerable—the princess of Tenebrae shouldn’t be roaming around Lucis, especially not alone. But having Luna and Noctis together on the same ship doesn’t seem like a wise idea, either. Ignis has yet to decide if any of this is a benefit or an additional problem. What if both Lucis and Tenebrae join forces to take them back?

Ignis wants to protect all of them—even the princess he has never met. Caring for people has always been a difficult and sometimes thankless job, but if he can see someone comforted, see them smile again, it has always made it worth the effort. This time, the toll might be too steep, but they’re all too involved now to back out. 

He should have told Prompto not to let the prince stay on board, but he didn’t. Nor did he insist on sending Noctis back with the glaives and Gladiolus after careful negotiation. Perhaps he is as soft-hearted as Prompto. 

It reminds him of all the times he told Prompto not to bring the stray cats and dogs into the house, but his empty words led to making food from scratch and lining blankets in a bedroom closet so his uncle didn’t find out. 

But these people are not pets. A few scratches from a scared animal on the arm is one thing; facing down two kingdoms is another. 

Ignis goes to pour himself a fourth cup of coffee. 

~*~

Noctis stands in front of a full-length mirror in Ignis’ room, trying not to move his head as his eyes follow Ignis through the glass. Fingers tickle his shoulders as Ignis tucks at the seam and pins it. The pants, the shirts—they all pile up beside the sewing machine in the corner in a neatly folded stack. 

“Thank you for doing this.”

“It’s no trouble at all. I’m glad I could help. You’ll look much better once these are fitted. Don’t you think?”

Noctis isn’t sure he cares about the clothing. He’s more interested in the time spent with Ignis. He loves feeling the tickle of Ignis’ fingers at his wrist, the way he rubs his palms along his back to test the fabric. 

“Sure.” 

“There.” Ignis smooths out the sleeves and steps back to appraise his pinning job. “Yes, that is more fitting to your form. You can take that shirt off now.”

“What do you think about this whole thing with Luna?” asks Noctis as he unbuttons the front. “Are you okay with Prompto letting her board?”

Ignis takes the shirt and begins folding it. He doesn’t answer straightaway, instead busying himself with sorting through the piles of clothing he has already pinned.

“It’s not my choice,” says Ignis. “We’ve been caught up in something together. We might as well see it through to the end.” He lifts his head and gives Noctis an uncertain smile. “I’m not blaming you. No one should take your father’s proposals lightly.”

“Yeah, but it is my fault.” Noctis has known that from the beginning. “I’ll make it up to you and work hard on this ship while we figure things out. And I can order Gladio to help—you can put us both to work. I think he likes it here, so he’d cooperate.”

“Yes, I daresay he has a reason.” Ignis’ tone is sour as he opens a drawer in his desk to pull out a sewing kit.

Noctis wonders if he should abandon the subject while he still can, but… “I think he likes Prompto.”

Ignis sets his sewing kit down a little hard—enough to make Noctis flinch. “You’ve noticed it, too?”

Noctis’ laugh is the result of nerves rather than mirth. “Uh, yeah. They’re kind of obvious. You don’t mind, do you?”

Ignis slips into his chair in front of his sewing machine, spinning it around so he’s facing Noctis. He grabs a hook-like device and uses it to rip out the seam in the bottom of Noctis’ jeans. “Prompto is a grown man capable of making his own decisions. But be warned that I won’t stand idly by if he’s hurt.”

“Gladio’s not that kind of guy.” Noctis laughs. “In fact, I think he’d agree with you, since he says stuff like that about his sister. But she usually beats up the bad ones on her own, and all he can do is take her out for a drink after the break up.”

“I’m glad we seem to be on the same page about siblings. He does seem rather nice. I haven’t chatted with him face to face, but I saw them together. They were…”

Noctis hurries closer, taking the edge of the bed right next to Ignis’ chair. “Kissing?”

“No, thank the Six.” Ignis lets out a long, weary sigh. “Prompto bites his nails. I walked in on Gladio bandaging them the other day. It was…adorable.” Ignis pauses in his ripping and adjusts his glasses.

Noctis scrunches up his nose. “Gladio’s read too many romance novels. He might look scary, but he’s a total sap.”

Ignis laughs. “I see. Some of those don’t always have happy endings for everyone involved. Do warn him I’ve sharpened my cooking knives in case he does anything stupid.”

“Yeah, well…” Noctis grunts, trying to hold back his laughter. “What if Prompto hurts Gladio?”

Ignis raises an eyebrow at him seconds before they both lose it. Noctis flops onto his side, head landing on the pillow, and swipes at the tears in his eyes. It has been too long since he had someone to tease, to laugh about things with. Too often—regretfully—his time with Gladiolus is dedicated to training or official business. And Luna is always too far away. Noctis misses being able to laugh, weightless and carefree.

“I’ll see to it that Prompto does well by Gladio,” promises Ignis once they’ve settled down. He begins threading the needle on his machine. 

“Yeah, if they _make_ it that far. I think everyone on this ship knows they like each other—they haven’t exactly been hiding it—but they’ll be the last ones to figure it out.”

“They’ve only known each other a couple of days. Give them time.”

Noctis eases back into a sitting position. “Is that why you’re not saying anything?”

“I won’t interfere in Prom’s love life.”

“That’s not what I meant.” 

Ignis’ hands still over their work, the fabric slipping away from the machine and pooling into his lap. He swivels in his chair to face Noctis.

“It’s true I find you attractive, Noct, and I’ve certainly enjoyed your company.”

“But?” 

“I’d like to get to know you more. Besides, I suppose it might be dangerous to expect too much when you’re betrothed.”

“Fair enough.” Noctis hopes they’ll put an end to the last matter soon enough, with Luna aboard the ship. “We have plenty of time to get to know each other more. I’d like that.” 

Noctis has never had an intimate relationship. There were times he stared a little too long at the men in the Crownsguard or in the Kingsglaive. But he cares about more than just Ignis’ physical attraction. The man is downright sexy—a lovely jaw, beautiful lips, stormy green eyes of the sea, and clothing that shows off his slender build. 

Noctis wouldn’t mind a partner who can make him amazing waffles and cupcakes, too, who always makes him feel as floaty as he does now.

It’s almost too much to hope for as a prince, but it’s all he wants. 

Noctis grins. “Can I ask you stuff? To get to know each other?”

Ignis chuckles and turns back to his sewing machine. But instead of working, he flips off the overhead light and begins folding up the shirt.

“I think I’ll concentrate better on these later tonight, without distraction.” 

“Can’t say I’m too sorry,” admits Noctis. “But thank you for going to all this trouble for me. You always take care of others. Don’t you ever sleep?”

“Not lately.”

“Oh, that’s…” Noctis grimaces. _His_ fault.

Ignis stands. “Scoot over.”

Noctis makes room so that Ignis can sit down on the bed beside him. He steals a pillow and hugs at it. It smells like Ignis—fresh cologne, mild but fragrant shampoo.

“I’ve often taken care of others,” says Ignis. “That’s how it has always been.”

“Did you take care of Prompto?”

“A bit. My uncle served Lucis, and he spent a lot of time traveling as a diplomat’s secretary. I was in his custody from a young age, having lost my parents when I was four. He was gentle but firm. I was expected to behave myself on the train rides, to listen to his instructions, and to look out for myself when necessary.” Ignis takes off his glasses and grabs a cloth from his table to clean them. “When he took in Prompto, I was almost nine. Prompto’s parents ignored him, and one day they left him at the train station in Cartanica without a thought to his needs. My uncle caught him trying to snatch our meal while we were eating lunch, and instead of whisking him away to the authorities, he sat him down next to me and told him to order something.”

Noctis feels a tightness in his stomach. The bile rising in his throat makes his eyes water. How could anyone think to do that to a helpless child? Cartanica is in Niflheim, and he’s not sure of their laws, but if a child is abandoned in Lucis by their parents, it is considered a criminal act. There are orphanages where parents can surrender their rights willingly and without judgement, but leaving a child in a train station is considered endangerment.

“We took to one another instantly,” continues Ignis. He puts his glasses back on. “Prom was already somewhat self-sufficient, but it was nice to have a playmate. I learned to cook dishes for us to eat while my uncle was at work. Prom tinkered with gadgets, always perusing the books on my grandmother’s shelves—she used to hoard manuals, and after she died, my uncle never did throw them out. Prompto learned better from those than his teachers. Can you believe he did badly in school? His grades were abysmal.”

“Really?” After seeing Prompto work in his shop—catching a glimpse of his blueprints—Noctis can’t imagine him as a terrible student. 

“He had difficulty with some subjects, but make no mistake. He is a genius. You should see the edits he would make in those books to improve upon the instructions.” Ignis smiles fondly.

“I bet he was a talkative kid.”

“Quiet at first, actually, but he opened up. Some nights he rambled on and on until my uncle and I were begging him to go to bed. He’d fix things for us, give us handmade gifts. It was delightful. I never felt lonely again—not after that.”

Noctis is jealous of them. There were times growing up where he wished he had a sibling—wished he still had his mother. He understands what it’s like to feel lonely.

“You take care of each other,” says Noctis. “Sounds real nice.”

“That’s what everyone does on this ship.” Ignis rests his head against the headboard. He lets out a pleased sigh. “We’re our own little family. Weskham was an acquaintance of my uncle’s, and we met Cid and Cindy through him. They own a place back in Hammerhead, with a scrapyard and airship hanger. Like Weskham’s bar, they’ve had someone else running it.”

“Oh. Do you and Prom have any side businesses?”

Ignis snorts and rakes his fingers through his hair. “Not really. Weskham is the one who helps Prompto with the finances—I’m slowly taking over for him, but I don’t have the connections to help him sell blueprints to rich clients.”

Noctis reaches over toward the foot of the bed and snatches one of his t-shirts—one of the few clothing items not being altered. He tugs it over his head before he leans back against the headboard beside Ignis. 

“You need to find work for me to do,” says Noctis. “I have to help out, too. Maybe when I go back, I can help with clients, too…”

“Ah, so you _do_ intend to go back.” Ignis doesn’t sound surprised.

“Well, yeah. Eventually. I might like this life a lot so far, but being the prince—being the next king—is my duty.” Noctis feels the words as he speaks them, coming from the cavern where his heart rests. Despite all that his father has done, he loves him. He loves the people. “I didn’t run away from my duties. I shouldn’t have run away at all. It was impulsive. It isn’t like I didn’t think about running away sometimes, especially a few years ago, but I was never stupid enough to go through with it.”

Ignis chuckles. “That would have made you a teenager. I daresay most teenagers aren’t ready for adult responsibilities—while often thinking the opposite.”

“Exactly.” Noctis grins. “Glad you get it.”

With deliberate caution, he reaches out for Ignis’ hand and grasps it. Ignis squeezes back, but he looks up in surprise.

“Thanks, Ignis,” says Noctis softly. “This is nice.”

“Yes, it is.” 

Noctis decides not to take it any further. Handholding is only a step of alliance in this case, not a question or a demand of something more. Neither of them seems to be on different pages, but it will be a while before their story gets the chance to unfold. Noctis is willing to bet Ignis is worth the wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This and the next chapter are a nice break before a big reveal chapter. (I'm almost finished with 11 and have a rough idea of how 12 will go.) 
> 
> If anyone has any feedback, including criticisms, I'd be glad to hear them. Been worried lately that maybe I'm enjoying writing this more than anyone will enjoy reading it - I want it to share it, but I want to share something worth reading, y'know? ;A;


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter gets a little heavy at the end.
> 
> The chocobos - like the airships - are named after Tales of Rebirth characters. And Ignis' uncle is named after the character in _The Importance of Being Earnest_ because I love Oscar Wilde and that play. So Algernon isn't a mouse. :P

Prompto lands the _Agarte_ at a dock near the rest area in Cauthess, where tours often take people down to the Disc. It’s the closest they can get to Wiz’s without landing her somewhere unsafe that would risk damage to trees and fields.

“Yes!” Prompto finishes parking her and leaps from his seat. The whoop that follows echoes in the bridge.

“We get it, boy.” Cid swings his cap at him. Prompto dodges, knowing full well Cid’s doing it all for show. “You get to see the damn chocobos. Now get outta here so I can take my nap!”

Last night, Ignis decided who would pick Luna up and who would stay behind to guard the ship. Gladiolus and Ignis agreed on one matter: Noctis couldn’t go. From the pout on the prince’s face all morning, he isn’t too happy about their unanimous decision.

It’s more than likely Ignis chose Prompto to go because of his affinity for chocobos, even though he spent most of the evening reminding Prompto that they weren’t going for the chocobos. 

Prompto still makes sure to pack his camera before he meets up with Crowe and Weskham in the lobby. Both swore to Ignis they would protect Prompto. It’s easy to sympathize with Noctis, with all these people looking after them as if they’re precious cargo. Neither can go anywhere without an escort.

Weskham and Crowe are in deep conversation when Prompto meets up with them. The glaives have taken to Weskham, chatting with him at all hours of the night over drinks. It’s good to see that the crew and their guests are getting along.

“We’re renting chocobos once we get to the rest area,” says Crowe, nodding at Prompto when she sees him. “How does that sound?”

Prompto pumps his fist and does a spin on the heel of his boot.

“I told you he’d love the idea,” says Weskham. 

The rest stop isn’t too far from the docks, but it’s a quarter of a mile over weather-beaten roads in the heat. The arches over the rest area made it impossible to build the aerodrome close by. The walk would kill Prompto if not for Weskham’s chatter. Weskham is an encyclopedia of geographical information. The arches are the result of strange weather patterns after the Meteor crashed, thinning over time from the wind and rain.

The chocobo rental is next to a diner. The smell of salmon burgers and deep-fried foods wafts out from the open door of the establishment. Prompto is tempted to go in and order something, but before he can give in, the chocobos arrive. 

Each of them has a name tag. Crowe’s black chocobo is Eugene, Weskham’s pink chocobo Annie, and the spare for Luna is a silvery-white chocobo by the name of Veigue. The fourth one comes out last, a red chocobo called Mao. They’re all adorable.

Prompto loves riding chocobos. He never got to do it much as a kid. Ignis’ uncle, Algernon, took them riding at the stables in Insomnia as celebration for finalizing Prompto’s legal adoption. It had also been a birthday present. Algernon wanted to make up for all the birthdays he had missed in Prompto’s life. After that, Algernon always made sure to take Prompto to the stables around his birthday each year. Sometimes it happened a few weeks later, and one year Prompto was too sick to go when Algernon had the time off from work to bring him.

As a souvenir for their first visit at the stables, Algernon bought the boys each a plush chocobo. Both sit on Prompto’s bed every morning, residing in a chair at night while he sleeps. Ignis handed over his years ago, insisting that they should be together. His is still pristine, while Prompto’s is a stained and patchworked mess from the years he clung to it. 

Even last night, he hugged them tightly to his chest while he drifted off.

When the sign to Wiz’s chocobo post comes into view, Prompto is immediately distracted from his bittersweet memories. He whoops and does a quick sprint in his excitement.

“Good boy, Mao!” 

“Prom, we’re not here for the chocobos,” shouts Weskham when he catches up. 

He doesn’t have to be told. Meeting Princess Lunafreya is a privilege beyond what he could imagine. The six-year-old who begged for scraps of food and was denied even a pitying look from passersby would never have imagined building _Agarte_ or bumping shoulders with royals. Yet here he is, the wind caressing through his hair and carrying the sound of his laughter as he goes to fetch a princess. 

Prompto pats Mao on the neck. “Chocobos are a perk!”

They pass by a farm before the trees begin to thicken around them. The scent of spruce freshens the air, almost masking the smell of chocobos as they near. The stench is heavier when they reach the post, even though all the pens have been cleaned out. 

Prompto brings Mao to a stop along a crumbling brick wall and hops down. “Thanks, buddy!”

The post is busy at that time of day. Families have brought their children and grandchildren. A group of hunters mill around the bounty post. Baby chocobos scamper underfoot; Prompto wants to scoop every single one into a hug. 

No sign of Luna. It isn’t until Crowe dismounts Eugene and begins to drift among the tables near the eatery that one of the doors in the motel pops open and a person calls out to her. 

Prompto takes a step forward, but Crowe lifts her hand to stop him. 

“Hold on,” she says, and she disappears inside the room. 

Prompto fidgets with his wristbands and glances around. A baby chocobo wanders up and begins pecking at the shoelace of his boots. He kneels down next to it.

“Hey there,” he says, wiggling his fingers at it. The chick glances up with inquisitive black eyes before it turns around and scurries over to check under the tables for crumbs. “We should build a—”

“No, Prom.”

“But Wesky…”

“No.”

“You didn’t even know what I was going to—”

“No.”

“It’s my airship.” He draws his words out in a whine.

Weskham snorts. “You’re going to ask me if we can build pens in the room I know you’ve saved especially for transporting chocobos. Don’t think Ignis hasn’t told me what you have in mind. Until you have paying customers with chocobos, there’s no reason to set it up yet. It’s costly. And no, you may not have your own chocobo. Ignis warned me this might happen.” 

“My idea was totally cool, you know…” He folds his arms across his chest and puffs out his cheeks. Damn the Six, if he can’t have a chocobo, he’s allowed to pout for a little bit.

It doesn’t take long for Crowe to step out with Luna behind her. A pearly silk scarf with blue flowers is wound around Luna’s hair and neck. Her clothes are simple—a pair of white jeans and a blue blouse, white sneakers already stained with flecks of mud. She carries a tan leather bag in front of her with both hands around the straps. 

“Your chocobo,” says Crowe, pointing toward the wall where they’ve left their four rides. 

“His name is Veigue,” says Prompto.

“Veigue.” Luna smiles. “Which one is he?”

“The silver one,” says Prompto. “Here, I’ll introduce you!”

He leads the way and takes Veigue’s reigns. The chocobo nudges his pocket, wanting a treat, and Prompto scoops four of them out. Veigue takes his while Luna hoists herself up, strapping her bag to the saddle so that it rests securely between her and the chocobo’s head.

Prompto makes the rounds, treating all of the chocobos. After Mao devours his, Prompto hops on and grins at the others.

“Ready to get back?”

“Lead the way, Prom,” says Weskham, and with a wave of his hand, Prompto spurs Mao forward down the road.

~*~

“Luna!” Noctis leaps to his feet and crosses the lounge. He scoops her in a hug.

He has been camping in the same booth for a few hours with Gladiolus and Ignis, waiting on everyone else to return. It killed time to have people to talk to, but it didn’t make him less anxious about her safety.

Once he releases her, Luna begins to unwind her scarf and stuffs it in her bag.

“We have so much to discuss, Noctis.” She brushes her fingers through her hair, smoothing out her bangs. Her skin is a patchwork of angry welts from insect bites and the white medicine powdered over them. She notices his gaze and extends a wrist, frowning. “I’m afraid the blood of the Oracle is tasty this time of year.”

“Mosquitoes are quite a common issue in Duscae,” says Ignis from his seat at the table. “I’ve got a wonderful recipe for a salve that works wonders on the itch. It will ease the swelling as well. I’ll make you a batch later.”

“Thank you, um…?”

“Ignis.”

“Oh, right.” Noctis points to Gladiolus. “That’s Gladio.” The shield dips his head respectfully at her. “And I guess you’ve met Prompto and Weskham.”

“Yes. Where are the others? Crowe says there are five crew members, and Nyx and Libertus are on board as well.”

“Cindy slipped out to grab some salmon burgers from the rest area earlier,” says Ignis. “She should be back soon. Cid’s in the bridge, taking a nap.”

“Aww, I want a salmon burger!” Prompto whines.

“She promised to bring back enough for everyone, but she would like you to look over something she left in your workshop, Prom.”

“Oh? Guess I’d better do that if I want her to share. Later.” Prompto skips out the door, waving to them all as he leaves.

Luna seats herself on one of the stools along the bar, resting her bag against the base. Crowe leans against the bar beside her, elbows on the countertop. 

“Noctis?” Luna’s gaze is gentle on him. “I apologize for the childishness of my letter. I wrote it in haste, neglectful of my place.”

Noctis suspects he’s about to be scolded and retreats to his seat beside Ignis. “But?” he asks.

“I asked you—no, _pleaded_ with you—to confront your father. To do anything in your power to stop this union he proposes. He refused, and when he did, you ran away.”

“Without so much as a toothbrush,” Ignis chimes in before taking a sip of his coffee.

Luna presses her lips together, holding in a laugh.

“Really, prince?” asks Crowe, snorting. “Not even a toothbrush?”

Noctis groans. His first order as future king will be to ban any mention of his previous slip in oral hygiene. He would like to bury his head in his arms from the shame, but instead he turns back to Luna. “You ran away, too.”

“No. I’m on an errand.”

“She ran away,” says Crowe, grinning.

“I needed to meet up with you,” says Luna, giving Crowe a look full of exasperation and adoration all at once. “This union is more than dangerous. The public might think nothing of the marriage between a prince and a princess, and it might not occur to them the centuries that have passed where no such marriages between our families exist.”

“Our combined magic would be too great of a threat if we have any successors who feel the draw of its power, yeah,” says Noctis, nodding. “I brought that up to my dad, but he said that the threat Niflheim poses might be greater.”

There is a flash of anger across Luna’s face before she composes herself. “It’s more than that, Noctis. The blood of our families works to keep the other in check, that we might not abuse the special powers our families have been gifted. We work as a system of balance, our separation divine will. A union between us will bear us no sons or daughters—nothing human.”

The words plant a seed of anxiety in his gut. “Wait, what does that mean?”

“The message is vague, but I suspect it means we’ll bring about the birth of a monster.”

Noctis’ eyes burn, his hands curling into fists. He stares at the table’s surface. “Does my father know?” he asks after some time. “Does your mother?”

“I don’t think either of them is aware of the consequences. Your father has never been anything but kind to me. My mother does not consider my words and asks why the gods have not thought to tell her. Still, I believe she hesitates even after accepting your father’s terms.” She fingers the collar of her blouse. “I had a dream before I wrote that letter to you. A dream that we consummated our marriage and created a daemon instead of a child. And yet my letter spoke more of my own selfishness—a desire for us to be with those whom we love.”

Noctis can’t help but wonder if perhaps their sexuality is also the will of the gods. 

“You should have said that in your letter.”

“I was foolish. I’m sorry, Noctis. When you ran away, it was for my sake, and I apologize.”

This information might have swayed Regis if Luna hadn’t written the letter, if Noctis hadn’t argued with Regis. Now they’ll seem like two children rebelling against their parents. They’ve lost the impact their words might hold.

“I might’ve done the same in your place…” Noctis tries to smile, but the worry weighs it down.

“We’ll figure it out together,” says Luna. “It cannot be known I’m on this ship with you. Crowe informs me that your father knows you are here, but let him think we are still separated.”

“All right,” agrees Noctis. “We can do this.” He isn’t as sure of himself as he would like to sound, but it makes her smile. 

Being surrounded by the people on this ship, Noctis knows they won’t be alone in their plans. The fear of what Luna saw in her dreams doesn’t easily shake from his mind, but he knows he’s willing to fight with everything he can to prevent such an abomination. Not just for their sakes, but for the safety of Eos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The big reveal! Noctis wouldn't run away without a damn good reason. Honestly, if he were a kid who tried to run away, he'd be the type who packs cookies, walks a few blocks, and then calls his dad tearfully on a pay phone to come get him. He didn't want to run away. He might be 24 in this, but all he wants is to talk things out and hug his dad!
> 
> Thank you for reading! :D


	11. Chapter 11

Luna drops her luggage against the wardrobe before she turns into Crowe’s waiting arms. The touch of her willing lips is bliss when they meet, and Luna twirls her fingers around those wavy strands of hair straying from Crowe’s inverted bun. They smell and feel like two people who’ve spent the day on chocobo back, a layer of dust settled over their skin from the ride. 

They shared no kisses in the hotel room, merely a few words as Luna swept up the last of her things into her bag before their departure. They have always had to be careful about when and where to share their intimacy. It’s a strange and wonderful sensation to be honest to those around them, to have nothing more left to hide.

She had never even told Noctis of the kisses she stole from Crowe when King Regis brought his glaives to Tenebrae. She never asked Noctis about them, never dared let on that the two had forged a relationship over the distance. It had been that way for seven years. They spoke courteously to one another in the presence of others when deemed necessary. Walks were done late at night, in the depths of the gardens, behind tall hedges. 

Or through the hairclip Crowe had given Luna three years ago, to record messages back and forth in private.

Luna remembers the clip and removes it from her hair. “The battery,” she says, pressing it into Crowe’s palm. 

“I have backups.” Crowe tucks the pin into her nightstand. “I’ll fix it later. Would rather no one see me do it—I want that to remain our secret for now.”

“Of course.”

Crowe cups her face, thumb tickling Luna’s cheek. “It’s good to hold you again.”

Luna sets her palms over Crowe’s hand and burrows against it, eyes closed. She has known many a touch from other women—Crowe was always too far away for them to be exclusive—but there is a special connection between her and Crowe. This is more than a sweet kiss with a dressmaker or a little flirtation with one of the aristocratic daughters in Tenebrae.

Crowe is a series of balmy summer nights in the gardens, of slipped notes and gentle whispers into the microphone of matching hairpieces. Luna remembers sitting beside her mother and brother, still as any trained princess, hiding her eagerness for Regis’ entourage because it meant Crowe would be among the glaives who guarded the king and his son. 

She can smile freely now. Crowe leads her to the bed and eases her on her back. Those practiced hands know where to strum, where to linger, where to tease. And with Crowe’s lips at work, Luna arches off the bed, her right breast meeting the cup of her lover’s palm. 

Buttons are undone on her blouse, one by one. Luna’s moans are smothered in kisses. Her hand slips down and rubs Crowe through the front of her pants. She aches to pleasure and be pleasured. 

“We have plenty of time tonight,” says Crowe in response to Luna’s eagerness. 

“Now and then again and again.” Luna hums as Crowe leaves a necklace of kisses at her throat. Every peck sheds away the stress from her trained, careful life.

She throws her legs around Crowe’s hips and brings them closer together, ready to come undone until she’s screaming. And this time, she doesn’t have to care if anyone hears.

~*~

Ignis is surprised when the glaives—all three of them—take over collecting dishes from dinner that evening. 

“We’ll wash them,” says Crowe, winking at Ignis. “Figured we ought to help out around here.” She bumps the kitchen door with her hip, stack of dirty plates in hand. 

Ignis’ first inclination is to object, but dirty dishes are his least favorite part of cooking. He can understand some of Weskham’s possessiveness behind the bar. He feels similarly about his kitchen. Will they know where to put everything? What if they make a mess? What if, by standing in there, they realign the stars and the planet is never the same?

Better he observes them. It’ll give him an opportunity to speak with all of them frankly about their current mission. He pours another cup of coffee before he enters the kitchens.

Libertus looks up from his place at the sink and frowns. “We’ve got this!”

“I’d like to speak with you all,” says Ignis. “It has to do with Prompto and your orders to keep an eye on him.”

Libertus shuts off the water and Nyx stops sweeping the floor to lean on the broom. All three of them have their eyes on Ignis.

“What do you want to know?” asks Nyx.

“King Regis asked that you remain on this ship and observe its goings-on, did he not? It occurred to me in Altissia, when Noctis used his credit card. He knows Noctis didn’t run away, and yet he sent you after us. Now he has asked that you stay.” Ignis takes a sip of his coffee but doesn’t stop drifting his gaze from one of them to the next. “Gladio confirmed your orders were to keep an eye on Prompto.”

It’s difficult to gauge any of their reactions, especially Crowe’s. He watches their hands, their eyes—any sign that might give away their thoughts. No one attempts to express false shock at his observation. Ignis doesn’t trust them yet, but he appreciates that they’re no actors. 

“Prompto’s not like the rumors, is he?” asks Nyx, returning to his work. His sweeping is fast and efficient. He takes time for corners. Ignis feels a surge of gratitude warm his chest.

“No. Prompto’s talents and the cost of _Agarte_ are what led to those suspicions.”

“Yeah, but it’s weird, isn’t it? Some rumors have some basis in truth. Anyone who hears them knows it’s bullshit—no one can craft parts out of thin air and turn iron into gold—but he’s not at all the scary presence everyone makes him out to be. That seems like it’d be more…” Nyx shrugs. “You.”

Ignis chuckles. “Well, we’ve tried to keep his identity somewhat of a secret, and I’ve spoken up at meetings on his behalf. With Weskham and I in charge of everything, I suspect they might’ve assumed one of us was Prompto instead.”

Nyx bins everything from the dust pan into the trash. Once he’s finished, he points the broom handle at Ignis. “Now _that_ I can see.” He rummages through the storage cupboard. “What cleaner do I use on the floors when I mop?”

Ignis reaches in and plucks out a bottle. “One tenth of this diluted in nine parts hot water.”

“Thanks.” 

Nyx begins mixing it in a bucket. Crowe and Libertus are almost finished with the dishes, but Ignis knows they’re still paying attention to the conversation.

“King Regis wants to know if Prompto is working with the Niffs,” says Nyx.

“He was raised a Lucian by a Lucian.”

“Yeah, your uncle.” Nyx swishes the mop around the water to saturate it. “Algernon Scientia.”

“Yes.”

“He’s adopted. On paper, he’s Prompto Scientia. How come he went back to Argentum a few years ago?”

“Spite.” Ignis’ jaw tightens, the word like drying cement on his tongue.

Nyx pauses, quirking an eyebrow.

“He kept his parents’ name to remind them of what they threw away,” says Ignis. “Please never mention this to him. It’s a touchy subject.”

Nyx snorts. “And I suspect we’d have to deal with you if we upset him.”

“You will.” It’s a promise.

“The king’s concerned about his heritage,” says Nyx. “When Prompto refused to build a fleet, King Regis feared he might instead be allying with Niflheim.”

“Preposterous.” Does Regis not remember the nervous young man who nearly cried when telling him he would never build something made for the likes of hurting people? That he wouldn’t build a vessel around weapons and create tools of destruction?

Ignis is beginning to think the king might be paranoid. This is a man who is so desperate he would trade his son’s happiness for fickle security. Maybe Regis _would_ risk the birth of a monster if it meant keeping the Empire tucked behind its harsh mountain ranges.

“We like Prompto,” says Nyx as he finishes mopping up the last corner of the kitchen. “Don’t worry—we’re not going to hurt him if we don’t see a reason.” Nyx laughs, hands steepled over the end of the broom. “I can’t see him turning on Lucis. Don’t worry.”

“He’s a nice kid,” agrees Libertus. “The king’s been weird lately. We know. We’ll keep that in mind.”

“We can’t disobey our king’s orders,” says Nyx. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t still help Prompto.”

Ignis nods. That’s all he can ask from them. “Thank you. And…” He gestures around the kitchen. “I appreciate your help. If that is all, goodnight.”

He takes his leave. Weskham is in the lounge, vacuuming up the carpets. They exchange firm nods—he’s sure Weskham eavesdropped, as he didn’t hear the vacuum until seconds before he opened the door. They’ll have time and privacy to discuss the situation in more depth later.

Ignis slips behind the bar and looks for the Cartanica whiskey. One shot of that is sure to help him sleep. After all that has happened, he is going to need something to take the edge off his anxiety. Most of all, he’s going to need as much rest as he can manage. Each day seems to bring with it more passengers, all of them a piece of a political game board. Every one of those days ends with sleepless nights.

Keeping his family safe only seems to get more complicated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Luna and Crowe (and in another future chapter, Prompto and Gladiolus) want to get kind of smutty with me here, which is fine but I'm not going to go into super detail in this fic. Perhaps another one, another time. 
> 
> (There probably will be some kind of side story involving Prompto's adoption, but I won't post it till all the chapters are finished, just in case I don't like it/don't want to post it after all...I'm kind of hard on myself when it comes to writing.)
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	12. Chapter 12

According to Prompto’s calculations, they’ll be in Meldacio by morning. He ought to get some sleep. There are scrapyards to raid, wires to salvage, and sellers to haggle. It’ll be fun—he’s always enjoyed the environment in Meldacio and Hammerhead, where hunters tend to gather—but he’s feeling an itch beneath his skin that keeps him from resting.

He scratches at it by tinkering with an air purifier designed to help clear out the smog from the air in cities across Eos. His mind isn’t in his work, and his blueprints lay neglected across the table. He peels back layers of thoughts until it reveals the cause of his itch.

Gladiolus Amicitia.

He hears a grunt behind him and ignores it. It’s bad enough the man takes up his thoughts. Why does he need to start imagining him as well?

“Hey.”

No, this is too clear for Prompto to be hearing voices. And it’s not as if he’s ever been inclined to have delusions before.

He turns. Gladiolus is leaning against the door frame, arms folded. He grins, a flash of perfect teeth. Despite that his family is famously known for serving the kings and queens of Lucis, he looks like he strolled out of a bar in the deeper labyrinths of Insomnia, the sort of place Algernon used to scold Prompto for stealing into because he could always find good deals in the local scrapyards.

Prompto is stations beneath Gladiolus, but at first glance, he’s sure he’s seen dozens of men like him—tattooed and outfitted in leather with scars on their faces. But those men don’t have perfect teeth. None of them would likely last in a fight once their tempers gave out or the alcohol ebbed off. They’re not as social either. None of them have ever captivated him the way Gladiolus does.

Those huge hands were soothing against Prompto’s when they washed away the blood from his shredded nails, his eyes gentle. He isn’t a disreputable man stumbling out of a bar, but he’s more than Noctis’ bodyguard.

“Mind if I join you?” asks Gladiolus, gesturing to one of the stools near Prompto.

“Uh, sure.” He blushes and ducks his head down. It’s hard to work with people around him. Even Cindy—especially Cindy, she’s cool and knows _everything_ about airship engines, it almost seems ridiculous to build anything in front of her for fear he’ll look like a moron. She always scolds him for that. Cindy admires _his_ work and has said she wouldn’t be on the ship if she didn’t think highly of him.

The only person Prompto can work around is Ignis. Building is the one thing Ignis can’t do, even if he has absorbed some knowledge after all these years. It might help that Ignis watched Prompto grow from a beginner hobbyist to a—professional? (Does he _deserve_ that title?)

Ignis can remember all the times Prompto screwed something on upside-down or glued his fingers together. There’s no reason to feel Prompto can’t add up to wildly high expectations when Ignis has seen him at his most embarrassing.

Brothers might be different than strangers. Prompto never had trouble building things in front of Algernon, either. 

Prompto sets aside his tools and leans on his arms at the table. “Can’t sleep?”

Gladiolus shrugs. “Felt like a walk around the ship. You can’t get much exercise on a little vessel like this.”

“I guess I should build a bigger gym.”

Gladiolus raises an eyebrow. “Didn’t know you had one.”

“Has no one given you a tour of the ship?”

“Took a tour myself, but I didn’t go poking my head through every door. Didn’t seem like a polite thing to do.”

“It isn’t,” agrees Prompto. They don’t have much hiding behind their doors, but people like Ignis relish their privacy.

“Though you might want to consider locking your doors.”

Prompto lets out a nervous laugh. _That again?_

“You sound like Iggy.” He runs his fingers through his hair, flicking at the stray tufts in back. “You wanna know why that is?”

Gladiolus nods.

“I learned that from Algernon, the man who took me in. He opened his door to a strange kid who tried to steal from him. He brought me back to Lucis and raised me in his home, and there were no doors locked to me. I never stole again, but I might’ve. Still…” Prompto’s eyes water. “He took that chance with me.”

“Seems like you’ve become someone he can be proud of, too.”

Prompto’s lip twitches a couple of times before he indulges in the smile. “You think?”

“Yeah, I do. I mean, not many people can build a ship like this. Your inventions are kind of famous, and you’re only…”

“Twenty-four.”

“Same age as Noct. Only he has less to show for it.”

“That’s not fair. He can fight, can’t he? I can’t do that. I only know how to use a gun, and only a few things Weskham has taught me.” Sometimes he doesn’t even carry it with him, much to the concern of the other crew members. “And Noct knows a bunch of stuff I don’t, like being a prince.”

“If he does, maybe he should act like it more often.”

Prompto sighs and glances away. This is a side of Gladiolus he might not be so fond of—something harsh in the way he views others and himself. 

“Noct is trying,” says Prompto after some time. “You heard what Princess Lunafreya said.” He looks up and makes eye contact before he shifts his gaze to the wall behind Gladiolus. “Don’t you want to be with someone you love?”

“Yeah, and so should Noct. I admit, now that I know what happened, I’m not so pissed at him. But he’s twenty-four, and he needs to find someone soon. Not that I’ve done anything about that yet.” 

“Do you…” Prompto reaches for a tape measure and begins to play with it, tugging the band out and letting it snap back into place. “Do you have anyone in mind?”

“Sure do.”

Gladiolus leans in and lets his lips brush against Prompto’s. They’re a little chapped, but they’re warm, and it sends a spark through Prompto that reminds him of the times he accidentally shocked himself while learning to wire electronics. This one doesn’t leave behind quite as strong a sting, but it makes Prompto drop his tape measure.

“Again?” asks Prompto.

Gladiolus obliges, lingering in the kiss. Prompto parts his lips as invitation, and soon the two are locked together, tongues exploring. Prompto’s fingers rake through Gladiolus’ hair, disheveling his bun. Locks fall lose around his face. 

They have one another’s full attention. Prompto lets out a soft gasp as Gladiolus trails along his jawline, teeth nipping at the skin. 

“You know…” He giggles as Gladiolus’ stubble tickles against his neck. “The dark room is pretty dark.”

“Sounds…dark.”

“It’s not too far away.”

Gladiolus lifts him from the stool. Prompto hooks his legs around his hips and allows himself to be carried, appreciating the strong, calloused palms firm on his back. The two slam into the door as they kiss. Prompto pats around until he finds the knob and twists it. 

They don’t bother turning on any of the lights on their way in, but they leave the door ajar—out of laziness rather than planning. There is enough illumination coming from the other room to find each other, to feel around in the dark. Clothes are discarded to the floor, kisses pausing their otherwise hasty undress.

Prompto thanks his past self for placing a dark room next to his workshop as Gladiolus lowers to his knees before him.

~*~

Ignis notices the not-so-subtle way Prompto glances at Gladiolus during breakfast. He sips on his coffee and tries not to think about it. His brother is an adult now and has been for several years. But it’s a little maddening to watch his puppy dog eyes wander around the room after Gladiolus.

After breakfast, Ignis requests Prompto’s help with dishes. The kitchen gives them plenty of privacy in which they can talk without much interruption from anyone but Weskham. 

Prompto won’t look him in the eyes.

“It’s all right,” says Ignis, handing him a clean plate to dry. “You have my blessing.”

“With what?” He lets out a little whine when Ignis raises an eyebrow. “Is this about Gladio?”

“Hmm, you tell me.”

Prompto deflates, and Ignis can’t help but smile at how silly he’s being. There’s one good sign in all of this: Prompto isn’t biting his nails. In fact, he seems lighter, happier. If that’s the sort of change Gladiolus will make, Ignis welcomes it.

“Ignis, I think he likes me back.”

Ignis chuckles. “Are you just now figuring that out?”

“Figured that out last night.” Prompto’s blush seems to bring his freckles out more. “We talked about Algernon, too, and then we did some other stuff.”

Ignis isn’t sure which point is more surprising, but he’s pleased. “It seems you’re both getting along splendidly. I am happy for you, Prom.”

He shuts off the water, having finished the last of the dishes. As soon as Prompto puts away the silverware, Ignis wraps his arms around him, pulling him in tight. It has been a while since they’ve hugged. As children, they would hold hands and sleep in the same bed and tell each other everything.

Ignis is grateful they can still do those things, even if it isn’t as often.

Prompto slaps him on the arm as they draw apart. “Now it’s your turn to find someone special, Iggy!”

Ignis refrains from mentioning the person whose image drifts immediately into his mind at the suggestion. Luna might be on board now and working with them, but until King Regis or Queen Sylva end the engagement, Noctis is out of bounds. 

Every day that passes, Ignis finds it more difficult to stay on his side of the line.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little more insight to Prompto's no-locked-doors principle! 
> 
> I'm working on a side story right now that covers Prompto's childhood and how he was adopted by Ignis' uncle. Don't know if I'll post it. I want to make sure I finish it before I do, and I'd like to get more chapters of this posted as well!


	13. Chapter 13

_Agarte_ lands in Meldacio early the next morning as the dawn breaks across the hunter’s paradise. Noctis stares out the windows, but a good portion of the town is tucked beneath carved-out rock. The scrapyard lies across from the aerodrome behind a chain-link fence, spanning half a mile of land on a downward slope. 

Crowe comes up behind Noctis and slaps him on the back lightly.

“Come get some chow with us. My treat.”

Luna smiles in encouragement, nodding her head to urge him to agree. Luna has shed her usual garments for something more casual. Her hair is loose, one of Cindy’s oil-stained caps pulled down over her head. Most of her garments are plucked from Crowe’s wardrobe—a black camisole and a pair of dark washed jeans. 

“Eat with us, Noctis.” Luna nudges him with an elbow, her eyes filled with the same mischief he remembers from all the times he visited Tenebrae and they would lie amongst the blooming sylleblossoms and talk about the girls she kissed, the guys he eyed. 

Noctis nods. Crowe and Luna erupt in cheers. 

“We’re getting skewers,” says Crowe, leading the way.

The dock isn’t crowded. The _Agarte_ is the only large airship parked there. The streets are lined with battered trucks. Most people stopped using cars in Insomnia when air cabs became available, but in most of the rural areas that span the majority of Lucis, they’re still one of the favored methods of transportation aside from chocobos. Noctis’ father has a car, and they used to drive around in it as a way of spending time together. It always made him feel safe, tucked in the backseat as he listened to Regis’ stories of his more adventurous youth. 

Noctis is fond of the Regalia and all the times he spent in her luxurious leather seats. It makes him miss his father even more.

Crowe sets an elbow on Noctis’ shoulder and leans in. “Cheer up. It’s good food, I promise.”

Crowe must be familiar with Meldacio. They follow the street until they’re under the shade cast by the rocks above. It’s cool and smells like earth and wood smoke. Someone has set up an outside eatery—they watch the cooks grill food over the fire from where they sit at a table. Crowe orders a round of beer and a dozen mixed skewers.

“I’ve never dined at such a place before,” said Luna, watching the cooks.

“The food’s better this way. Real heart in it.” Crowe skims through the one-page menu. “Libertus and Nyx own a bar and fix food like this. Best food in Galahd. Nyx’s family runs it while those two are in service.”

“Have you been to Meldacio before?” asks Noctis.

“Yup! The food is great here. Not as good as in Galahd, though.”

Noctis wonders if Ignis knows that Libertus and Nyx are fellow cooks—it might explain why they’ve been so helpful in the kitchen cleanup recently. Noctis wishes he had something to bond with Ignis over. They don’t have much in common when it comes to hobbies and skills. Noctis hasn’t found anything that connects them.

He would have been happier if Ignis could join them, but Ignis went with Prompto to the scrapyard. Noctis watches Crowe lean toward Luna and snag a kiss from her at the most random of moments. They touch hands and exchange smiles. There is no doubt they’ve been together for a while. How ignorant could he have been all these years, not to know?

Noctis sips on his beer as a distraction. It’s a different taste—he has never acquired a liking for alcohol. As he slurps down a little more, he pinches his face.

“If you don’t want beer, they’ve got cola,” says Crowe, watching him with a grin. She snaps her fingers at the server. “Hey, could we have a pitcher of cola? Thanks!”

Cola is more to Noctis’ liking. He nods appreciatively as a pitcher of cola is brought to them. Luna goes for it as well.

“Guess I’ll have the beer to myself,” says Crowe, refilling her mug.

The skewers arrive on a steaming plate. Luna takes one and nibbles on the first vegetable at the tip. 

“You have to chow down,” says Crowe, grabbing the end of one skewer and demonstrating. Juices from the meat and vegetables stream down her chin from her lips, and she moans appreciatively. When she finishes, she waves the cleared stick at Noctis. “And you ought to eat the vegetables.”

Noctis shakes his head as he grabs for a second kebob. “No way.”

Crowe helps herself to the ones he picks off, popping seasoned green peppers and onions in her mouth with her fingers. Luna follows in her example on how to properly enjoy a kebob, making a mess of her hands and face.

When Crowe licks Luna’s fingers clean and causes her to giggle, Noctis swallows down another mouthful of cola and stares beyond them at the other buildings. Perhaps he wouldn’t care so much if Ignis were with him. 

Not that Ignis would let him do anything like that. 

Once they’ve finished their meal, Crowe throws down the gil onto the table, along with a generous tip for the server. She pats him on the back as he’s clearing their dishes.

“Thanks for putting up with us!” She laughs, and it’s like she has been here a million times and knows him personally. But there can’t have been many missions out to Meldacio. Crowe has a certain way of getting along with people around her. This sort of setting is natural to her.

“Hey, mind if I meet up with you later?” asks Noctis. He wants to have a look around on his own—and feel less like a third wheel with the couple who are finally allowed to show open affections with one another after all these years. 

“Are you sure?” Luna frowns and leans against Crowe as her girlfriend slips an arm around her waist. 

“Yeah. I’ll be fine. Just want to look around a bit on my own, get some fresh air.” 

“Sounds good,” says Crowe. She waves at him with her free hand. “See you back on the ship!”

Noctis watches them go and then heads in the opposite direction. As they continue toward the tunnel that leads to the lake, he steps out into the warm sunlight and takes a deep breath of the grilled foods he’s leaving behind.

He follows the road, passing by the airship dock. There’s another tunnel not far down the road—he’s not sure where it leads. He wouldn’t mind visiting the lake; he’s fond of fishing from all the times Cor took him out to the reservoir while growing up. Ignis says they won’t be in Meldacio long, though, and Noctis doesn’t have any gear with him. 

There are stands set up on one of the streets that runs along one side of the scrapyard. Noctis follows it. 

He pauses in front of one selling peaches. His mouth waters at the thought of having fresh fruit, but he doesn’t have any money. 

“Noct, what are you doing?”

Noctis turns to face Ignis, afraid to seem too eager. When he sees Ignis’ severe face, however, his joy withers. 

“Weren’t you with Crowe?”

“Yeah, but we went our separate ways.”

“Alone?”

Oh, that. “I can handle myself.” Noctis peers around. “Why aren’t you with Prompto if you’re so worried about us?”

“Prom wasn’t alone when I left him. I saw you walking by yourself and decided to check up on you.” Ignis sighs and offers the crook of his arm. “Would you like me to join you?”

Noctis slides his arm into Ignis’ and presses against him. Suddenly he feels smug, enjoying their physical closeness in a public space. 

“You’re not mad?”

“Worried. I’m always worried.”

Noctis grins and leans in closer to rest his head against Ignis’ shoulder. “I admit, it’s kind of nice to be cared about.”

As soon as the words leave him, he feels a lump in his throat. His father loves him, yes—he doesn’t doubt that, despite all they’ve gone through over the past decade. Gladiolus and Luna also love him, but they’re family. The older siblings who always looked out for him. In Gladiolus’ case, sometimes a little too closely and with a tad too many thumps on the back of the head.

Noctis wants to claw his way into the family on the airship unapologetically, but he supposes he has already done that.

“Does it bother you, having so many people on the airship now? That’s all my fault.”

“Yes, it is your fault. And no…” Ignis sighs. “I’m becoming rather fond of our guests.”

“Me especially, I hope.”

“No, you’re my least favorite.” Ignis shakes with soft laughter, and Noctis lifts his head to kiss him on the cheek. That stills them both in shock. “Oh.”

“Oh?” Noctis stiffens. “Was that too bold?”

“A little, but it was nice. I wouldn’t object if it happened again, though it might not be the wisest idea to flash our budding relationship next to the main road through Meldacio.” 

Noctis snorts. “True. I don’t wanna explain this to Gladio right now, either. Let’s do some shopping.”

Most of the street vendors don’t have any wares either of them would be interested in. They’ve got parts and weaponry laid out on folded tables, and one of them sells secondhand books. Most of the equipment is standard for citizens—the weapons Noctis has stored in his armiger are Crownsguard issued, some of the finest made. His boots are also Crownsguard, worth more secondhand than any of the boots people could buy in most stores. As for parts, that’s Prompto’s expertise.

Not that he can shop. He still doesn’t have any money. 

“Do you think my dad might’ve lifted the restrictions on my cards?” asks Noctis.

“See something you’d like to buy?”

“No. It was a thought. Even if he did, I shouldn’t use them, right?”

“That would be wise. If you find something you like, however, I would be glad to pay for it.”

Noctis wants the power to buy things again more than he cares for what he could purchase. There’s a jeweler down the road, but he has a few protections stored in the armiger if they’re needed, along with a set of twin daggers and a sword—not the same one Ignis gave him, which he keeps by his bed. There are a few healing items, too. His father taught him early on in life to always keep curatives available in case his enemies were lurking in the Citadel hallways.

Ignis does pick up a few ingredients—primarily vegetables that make Noctis curl his nose. 

“You don’t like these?” Ignis holds out a bundle of carrots strapped together with twine. 

“I hate carrots the most!” Noctis backs away, palms outstretched as a barrier to his mouth. Not that Ignis would stuff a whole bundle of raw carrots down his throat, but he can’t risk it.

Ignis pauses. He stares at something over Noctis’ shoulder.

“Something the matter?” Noctis twists around to get a better view.

“Yes, the woman in the orange bucket hat. Hold on. Let me pay for these.” Ignis hands over the necessary gil and slips his new vegetables into a canvas tote. He leads Noctis in the direction of the woman, who is sitting at a table under an awning, marking something in a notebook.

“That would be Sania Yeagre, our most frequent customer on the airship,” whispers Ignis. “It might be worth chatting with her—she’s always in need of a ride.”

“And you guys could use the business.”

“Precisely.”

Noctis snorts as he imagines Gladiolus’ reaction. “Great, Gladio’s gonna be thrilled. He loves her books. Says her environmental research and urban impact arguments are compelling.”

“She is the most knowledgeable person in her field.” Ignis places a hand on Noctis’ back and gently steers him in the direction of Sania’s table. “Come, let’s have a talk with her.”

~*~

Prompto organizes his scrap acquisitions onto a cart with Weskham’s help. It’s a good haul of parts for cheap. Some people will throw something out thinking that because the device is broken, there is no use for the parts. Some people take the obvious things—motors and copper wire—but some pieces are overlooked as insignificant. Those are what Prompto snatches up in the yard. 

Recycling is a vital part of the airship business, with some materials being so scarce. The hunters are a perfect resource. Prompto is grateful that they’re eager to help him. Sometimes all they want in return during the haggling process is a free ride on the airship to the next location, the next bounty. Others are thrilled with a bit of gil or a drink in Weskham’s lounge before _Agarte_ leaves port.

Prompto admits to some struggles with his cart. It’s flat with only six inches of lip on either side, and some of the parts risk sliding off. He adjusts them a little more.

“Need a hand?”

Prompto and Weskham pause and turn to the newcomer. Gladiolus nods at the cart.

“I can carry some of that, if you want.”

“Would you? Thanks!” Prompto ignores the look of surprise on Gladiolus’ face as he gives him some of the more awkward large parts that take up too much space but aren’t heavy. Once his arms a filled, Prompto assesses the cart. “Yeah, I think things will fit on here better now.”

“Well, if you’re sure.”

Weskham holds up one of the pieces in his hand. “I’m going back to the airship to check on the lounge and start serving those promised drinks. I’ll set this by your workshop door.”

“Thank you, Wesky!” 

Prompto manages to fit the littler bits into the cleared crevices of his scrap tower. He can feel Gladiolus’ eyes on him and decides to make a point not to look up at him. The reason for coming to Meldacio was to get some new bits and make those air filters. 

“You built _Agarte_ like this?” asks Gladiolus. “Scrapping by?”

“Sometimes. It’s mostly recycled, but some of it still had to be bought. That’s especially true for the decoration.” Prompto pushes the cart as they walk toward the docks. Some of the items on the cart are heavy, loading down the wheels. 

“Like the furniture and upholstery?”

“Ignis sewed all the bedding.” Prompto beams. “I helped cut the fabric!”

“Huh. That guy’s pretty handy. So are you. What exactly did his uncle teach you?”

“Uncle Algernon? He didn’t teach me about mechanics or electronics. He couldn’t sew much, either—his patch jobs were always disasters. Iggy and I are self-taught masters!” Prompto blushes. He has never boasted before, and it’s embarrassing to have done it. “Well, maybe not masters…”

“You’re impressive to me.”

Prompto opens his mouth to protest, but all that comes out is a squeak. After a minute of struggled composure, he says, “I’m just a plebe.”

“Plebe?” Gladiolus snorts. “You own the most prestigious luxury vessel in the world.”

“Second. You’ve never been on Reggie’s _Milhaust_ , have you?”

“Ah, I guess. Maybe I like yours better.”

“I designed _Milhaust_. If you compliment it, you’re still praising me.” Prompto stops his cart and scratches his cheek. “Which is kind of awkward.”

“Are you the leading expert on airships?”

“People think I’m a warlock.” 

“Hey, that’s a mysterious reputation. Some people find that hot.”

Prompto frowns.

“What, you don’t like that?”

“No way.” Prompto worries at a hangnail on his thumb. He doesn’t like being a dangerous person in the eyes of others. “I wasn’t even a bad kid. Not really. I could have turned out way worse. Way, way worse.” His forced laughter cuts deep into his heart. He knows what would have happened, had Algernon not taken him in. A life of crime, an early death—whether in a prison, from the cold, or from starvation—would have made up his future. 

Gladiolus cups his hands around Prompto’s and lowers his lips to the knuckles.

“Stop chewing up your fingers,” he murmurs.

Prompto feels his cheeks tickle. Does he ever stop blushing like a fool around Gladiolus? 

“Wasn’t my finger. Hangnails aren’t fingers. Nails aren’t, either.”

“Hah. If I say they are, they are.”

Prompto sighs. 

“Let’s get this back to the airship,” says Gladiolus, winking at Prompto. “I bet you have all sorts of projects planned.”

“I always get more ideas while I’m at the scrapyard,” Prompto agrees. “More than I can handle.”

“Hmm, I have some ideas, too. They were inspired by you. And they might be more than you can handle, too.” There’s a sexual undertone in the words, all of which make Prompto giddy and anxious. He almost starts gnawing on his nails again—not that there is much left of them after the past several days.

“I’d like that,” he says after a while. “I think… I think I can handle it.” 

“Good.” Gladiolus hoists up one of the pieces over his shoulder and nods toward the aerodrome.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took me forever to update because I ended up rewriting 90% of this chapter. Worth it, though.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while since I've updated. I finally got a little passion back for continuing this story. I had half this chapter and half of the next written a couple of months ago, but I finally finished this one the other day.

“Sania Yeagre?!” 

Gladiolus’ eyes widen, and he excuses himself from the booth to hurry over to the woman standing by the door of the lounge with Cindy. Sania glances up at the sound of her name and extends an open hand. He sweeps it up and gives it a firm shake.

“I’m a big fan of your work,” he says, dropping his hands to his side. It’s an understatement. He has lost hours and hours in the days following her book releases, too absorbed in the text to so much as eat until Iris drags him by the collar to the dining table. One of his favorite topics at dinner parties involves her research. 

She grins. “You’ve read my books?”

From behind him, at another table, Noctis calls out, “He’s a big nerd and never shuts up about them.”

“Says the guy who doesn’t read anything but comics.”

“Nothing wrong with comics.”

Gladiolus rolls his eyes and turns back to Sania. “I had no idea there were so many different species of frogs in Lucis,” Gladiolus continues. “For you to do all the legwork yourself, too—I have to admire that. I attended one of your speeches at Insomnia University, too. Your arguments in favor of cleaner transportation were compelling.”

Sania laughs out of genuine delight, a sparkle in her eyes. “Oh my, you really are a fan. I’m glad to hear it.”

“What brings you on board?”

“Sania here is a regular passenger!” Cindy puts an arm on Sania’s shoulder and leans in. “Our favorite guest!”

“Yes, I’m afraid I don’t _always_ do the legwork to get from one region to the next. It’s much easier to bring my things on board rather than go by chocobo, and Prompto’s airships are cleaner than any others in the sky.”

Gladiolus is a bit ashamed to admit he doesn’t know much about airship design, but he does recall a recent post-coital conversation he had with Prompto about his current air filter project. Sania’s work often encourages others to explore new options for travel, ones that involve more environmentally safe options. The steam trains and subways common in both Insomnia and Gralea are hazardous and require more destruction of acres of wildlife than a few ports for air travel. The vehicles themselves all vary by model on which ones pollute the air most.

As Sania put it in one of her books: “Some airships seep toxins like the skin of a poisonous frog.”

Prompto seems to have a knack for taking a good idea and making it better—and then improving upon that. It makes sense that his airship would appeal to Sania when he works so hard to make sure they’re powered by cleaner fuel and use air filters to help with emissions.

“How long have you known Prompto?” asks Gladiolus. 

“For a few months. We met in Meldacio and hit it off right away. Since then, he’s been lending me a hand whenever we happen to be in the same area.”

Gladiolus likes Prompto even more for his associations with cool people. The self-deprecating comments he heard from Prompto a few hours ago are more than unjust. He knew that then, and he thinks it even more now. 

He gestures to his booth. “Come sit down, let’s talk some more.”

“I could use a drink,” admits Sania.

“I’ll have Weskham serve you up something right away,” says Cindy. She pops over to the bar and leans across it, making conversation with a couple of the hunters there.

Noctis and Prompto scoot closer to the window to allow room for Sania on their side. Gladiolus takes his place beside Ignis and jumps right into a conversation about Sania’s latest teasing of a new book. At some point, he needs to thank Noctis for running away. Back in Insomnia, he never would have dreamed he would get to meet Sania Yeagre! And even better, he never expected getting to know someone like Prompto. 

~*~

“Where to next, Iggy?” 

Ignis circles the bridge, staring down at the buttons of the ship. He knows how to operate some of them or can hazard a guess as to their purpose, but there are so many unmarked that he wonders how Prompto can keep track of them all. It isn’t that he doesn’t know how to use electronics. He has worked with a handful of standard computers in Lucis from his college days, but airships are complex systems. 

“Hey, Iggy—you hear me?” Prompto twirls around in a swivel chair and waits for an answer.

“Sania would like to be dropped off by Astor Slough,” says Ignis. They seem to be traveling every way across Lucis. “She says there’s no rush if we want to make stops along the way. Perhaps we ought to drop by Lestallum, take Sania to Astor, and then head to Hammerhead.”

“Lestallum?”

“Yes, perhaps we might be able to acquire some more passengers. We must operate as normally as we can, which means doing the things we did before Noct came onboard.” 

“Ah, right. What do they want to do?”

“Stay safe.” That was all he could get out of Luna and Crowe when he spoke with them earlier, but those two are working on a plan. Ignis managed to assign everyone jobs they can start in the morning and keep _Agarte_ functional and secure. Nyx and Libertus showed interest in preparing some of the meals and helping Ignis feed the ever-growing passenger list. They don’t mind cleaning up the kitchens and lounge, though Weskham has yet to permit them access to his bar. If they’re willing to vacuum out the lounge and scrub the tabletops, however, it frees Weskham to manage paperwork in the evenings. 

Noctis agreed to help Ignis with laundry, and Gladiolus offered to help Prompto with repairs and maintenance. Ignis had his doubts about allowing the two to work together for fear they might distract one another. But Gladiolus has the muscle to carry around heavy tools and parts, and it would be hypocritical to deny them each other’s company when Ignis has chosen to keep Noctis close to his side.

Crowe and Luna agreed to help with dusting and vacuuming suites. The airship is ready for guests, at this rate—if only they could find them. But Ignis feels more confident about their operations. His relief is replaced with exhaustion. No longer plagued with as many worries, his body has taken to reminding him how little sleep he has obtained in the past few nights.

He’s even too tired to think much about Noctis. The prince has occupied—no, _consumed_ —his attentions. A pleasant feeling warms his chest whenever Noctis is nearby. Even so, there are priorities. The operation of the _Agarte_ is one of them.

“The more civilians we have on board, the more likely King Regis won’t launch another attack,” says Ignis. “He won’t do anything that harms his people.”

“Then it’s a tactic?” asks Prompto, frowning and pausing his chair’s movements.

“It works in our favor, but I’m afraid there’s another matter just as dire. We’re steering _Agarte_ into the red if we don’t get more business.” Ignis’ smile does not extend to his eyes. “Sania is our only paying passenger, and even if the others are willing to help out in exchange for free room and board, we need an income.”

“How many months do we have left?”

“Weskham is doing the math now. I suspect we’ll find out tomorrow morning.” They have to get up early for their weekly meeting with the crew. They’ll hold it in the office, away from the other passengers. “We need a business strategy.”

Prompto drums his fingers on the edge of one of the control panels. It creates a jarring, metallic noise that aggravates Ignis’ sleep-deprivation headache. Ignis sighs.

“Whoops, sorry, Iggy.” Prompto’s fingers drift to his lips.

“Prompto, your nails—you’re doing it again. Think of something nice. Gladio, perhaps?”

That gets a dopey smile out of Prompto. “Yeah…”

“Do you think he could help us?”

“In what way?” Prompto sits up in his chair.

Ignis tries not to spoil his joke by laughing before the delivery. “He can stand shirtless in Lestallum—surely he’ll attract customers with his physique.”

“I’d like to see that.” Prompto hums. 

“You weren’t meant to like the idea.” Ignis pushes his fingers against Prompto’s skull in affectionate beratement. “We’ll think of something. We have time. This is a new endeavor, but I’m sure once it picks up in popularity, we’ll soon be taking reservations. We can post colorful advertisements in every magazine.” 

There are other luxury vessels, but many of them are privately owned. Airships that travel any long distances are filled with crowded sleeping quarters. Dining halls require bumping elbows at the table with someone else. Trains and boats are often more spacious, but none have the affordable comforts of _Agarte_. 

“We’ll get through this,” Ignis promises, and he says it as much to himself as he does to Prompto. “Look how much we’ve been through together.”

Prompto nods, ever the trusting younger brother. But Ignis can’t help but feel guilty that he is aiming for something he’s worried they might never obtain. It isn’t any of their faults, and it isn’t Noctis’, and it isn’t Luna’s. 

It is the selfish leaders who strike war with other countries. People who come to Prompto and request he build warships, and when his soft heart refuses them, they terrorize him. Ignis doesn’t like King Regis or Emperor Iedolas. The former will have more reason to dislike Ignis in return if he ever finds out where Noctis has been placing his affections—and even worse, Ignis returns them.

Well. _Let_ them all hate him, but damn anyone who terrorizes Ignis’ loved ones.


	15. Chapter 15

Ignis might never get used to sharing a kitchen.

Libertus and Nyx are busying themselves around his workspace, backs turned to him while they work over sizzling and simmering foods. It all smells delightful, if Ignis is honest. The two have done their best to wash dishes and return them to their proper places when they’re done using them. The two have barely stepped into his kitchen and have already figured out a pace in which to work.

It shouldn’t make Ignis want to adopt his brother’s habit of biting nails. All he can do is watch them from the doorway and tuck his hands under his arms to prevent him from picking up any bad habits. It’s hard enough trying to break Prompto from it.

Neither of the two glaives works quietly. Libertus has a rather nice singing voice, to Ignis’ surprise, a soothing lilt carrying folk songs. When he notices they’re no longer alone, Libertus stops and lifts a hand up in a half-hearted wave.

“Thought we’d take over breakfast and lunch today,” said Libertus.

Nyx spins around. He’s wearing one of Weskham’s aprons as he fries up sausages. His hands are busy with work, so he nods in greeting instead. 

“Hey. You mind, don’t you?” Nyx makes a face. “Sorry, we were craving some real Galahdian food, and you said we could help with—”

“It’s quite all right,” says Ignis. “It smells delicious.”

“Hot sausages,” said Nyx, lifting the frying pan an inch above the burner. He tilts his head toward Libertus’ crockpot. “That’s a stew for tomorrow’s lunch. We’ve got meat marinating, and we’ll throw it in the smoker in a bit. I’ve got bread in the oven to go with the sausages.”

Ignis steps closer. “Mind if I take a look?”

“Go for it.”

“But don’t steal our recipes!”

Ignis chuckles. “Don’t tempt me.”

“This is what we used to do back home,” says Nyx. “Before Regis recruited us, we owned a bar and made some of the best food that side of the river.”

“It smells irresistible. You both must have brought in quite the crowds.”

“You bet,” says Libertus. 

Ignis leans over to get a look at the sausages. They’re seasoned and plump, and Ignis isn’t sure which meats might have been grinded to make them. Tomorrow’s lunch looks to be some kind of medley of spicy vegetables and beans in a thick broth.

“That’ll go over rice,” says Libertus. “It needs to simmer for longer than a day, if you want the best flavor. Gives time for the spices to settle.”

Ignis can’t wait to try breakfast. Maybe he could get used to lending out his kitchen. He knows a bit what Weskham feels like when other people are behind the bar, as if there are invaders in his private space. This is where Ignis comes to recover from stress and bake indulgent cakes. Where Prompto and Ignis have some of their most important conversations. 

But his uncle would never have wanted him to close his doors to strangers. This airship wouldn’t exist if Algernon hadn’t opened his home to Prompto—and if Weskham hadn’t taken them both in after Algernon’s passing, when it became painfully clear how little Ignis could handle adult responsibilities and care for his brother at the same time. 

“I look forward to trying everything,” says Ignis, and he leaves them to it. The kitchens will be fine. If the airship succeeds in its purpose, it will be filled with cooks and servers anyway. He might as well get used to it now.

Weskham has called for a meeting in the main office that afternoon, and Ignis hopes it won’t be all bad news about their financial situation. He has eyed the numbers from time to time, watching them dip dangerously low. This is Prompto’s dream, one he wants to see fulfilled. 

What home will they go back to? Weskham has a tiny flat in Altissia near his bar, but it would be too crowded for the three of them. Weskham wouldn’t be able to house them for more than a night or two. 

_Agarte_ has become their home. Right now, all they need is a bit of advertising money—something to post in magazines to attract customers. A few people who overlook the rumors around Prompto will be enough to give them feedback. Word of mouth can sometimes help better than a few postings. People will have information about the experience and want to see for themselves what a luxury airship is like, and won’t they be delighted that they no longer must pack into overcrowded cabins on smaller vessels?

They’ll be able to experience the magnificence of an airship that rivals the quality of King Regis’—Ignis should remember that for the advertisement. Nothing appeals to the people more than a chance to feel like royalty. When Queen Aulea put her hair in any noteworthy style, women would scramble to replicate it. Even the brand Regis used for his ink and pens when signing papers noticed a spike in sales when word circulated.

Since Noctis wants to help them, and his name alone could open doors. Ignis doesn’t want to use him, but Noctis _did_ offer. All they have to say is that the prince has enjoyed flying with them. They’ll only need to leave out that he’s not a paying customer.

Ignis needs another cooking session to work off his stress and think over things, but with the kitchens busy, he doesn’t have that option. He sits in a booth and waits for others to join him in the lounge. It will be a long day as he waits for the dreaded meeting in the afternoon.

~*~

Prompto’s heart feels like it has taken a plunge down to his abdomen, tugging his airship dreams down with it. Did he expect bad news? Yes. But that doesn’t stop it from hurting.

All his designs haven’t been enough. He can engineer working airships. People have talked about how all he has are some test models, how could he know how to build something so grand? But his mind has always been able to dissect and put together everything easily. He can come across unfamiliar gadgets and electronics and customize them with only a glance at their inner workings.

It’s his talent. That’s what Algernon used to tell him. It is the one thing he had always had faith in, and yet he is failing as “captain” of his own airship. Hah, that title shouldn’t belong to him. He doesn’t deserve it. 

Ignis leans over his chair and takes Prompto’s hand. He gives it a squeeze, but Prompto can’t bear to glance up at his brother’s gentle eyes. Not when he has let down everyone.

“It’s not your fault,” says Ignis firmly. 

“It’s totally my fault,” Prompto whispers through a cracking voice.

“It isn’t as bad as you think.” 

Oh, sure. It could be worse. They have maybe three months left, otherwise… Otherwise what? They have no alternative options. Maybe Cid would be willing to give Prompto a job in Hammerhead. Prompto doesn’t think he’s suited to working in Weskham’s bar. The airship will be nothing more than wasted scrap. They might be able to sell off the furniture and scrap her parts, but the thought makes Prompto’s heart clench tight into his chest. It would be like tearing apart a human being, limb from limb. His own creation, shredded and repurposed, as if she meant nothing.

The thought makes his eyes water. He doesn’t want to cry. Not in front of his crew. They’ve been nothing but supportive of his endeavors. Ignis gave up everything for him, and he never once lost faith in Prompto. 

“We can do this,” says Prompto. “We’ll think of something.”

“Yes, we will.”

“Yer not alone, kid,” grumbles Cid from his chair. He has been quiet during the entire meeting, and Prompto thought he might be angry. Hearing words of comfort from Cid is a bit of a shock. “No one’s leaving your side ‘til this is over. And it ain’t over.”

“Not even close!” Cindy grins and pumps a fist. The determination shines in her eyes. 

“And I have some ideas for advertisements,” says Ignis.

“Advertisements, huh?” Fixing gadgets is a cinch, but selling them? If only Prompto had charisma and the ability to read people, to know what they would like to hear and to deliver a smooth pitch to strangers. They would have half their rooms filled by now if only he could do that much.

 _Agarte_ was an ambitious project. Big—too big, really, but they had to make her grand if they wanted to impress people. People like to talk about her, but they need to make her friendly to ride.

They need to get rid of the rumors around Prompto. All that warlock business hasn’t been helping. It makes Prompto feel slimy and dishonest as a character. Deep down, no matter how little he may think of himself, he knows it isn’t true. The people around him wouldn’t be supporting him to the point of self-sacrifice if that were the case.

“I think it’s time I start showing my face more often,” says Prompto. Protests erupt all around him, but he holds up a palm. “Guys, I appreciate that you want to look out for me, but I’m not a child. I’m not even a VIP—I’m ordinary. We need to show that to people. We’ve gotta let the public know I’m not a warlock.”

He has thought about this for some time. At first, it sounded kind of nice and mysterious, but it hasn’t done him any favors having a notorious identity. 

“I think it’s time I get out there and look for ways to talk about _Agarte_ the only way I know how,” continues Prompto. “Like… I could talk to magazines and get interviews.”

No one talks for a while. As if they’re mulling over their wording before they shoot down his ideas. But then Ignis speaks first.

“That is a good idea.”

“I might be able to pull some strings to get you an interview with some of the papers in Accordo,” says Weskham.

Prompto sighs in relief and leans back against his chair. If he has their support, he is sure he can do this. He built _Agarte_. He can keep her flying. 

~*~

Ignis feels more hopeful than he has in a while, even though he knows things are nearing a critical juncture in their lives. While it is wise he doesn’t count his chocobos before they’ve hatched, their team isn’t ready to give up.

But Ignis never thought he would be longing for Noctis’ company. He can’t find Noctis in his bedroom or in the lounge. Even the workshop is empty. Ignis finally makes his way up to the topmost room—the one he would love to find the free time to sit in and read.

Noctis is standing by the windows. The airship rolls through the clouds at her lackadaisical pace. When he hears footsteps on the carpet, he turns, his fingers still pressed to the glass.

“Hey.” His eyes light up as his gaze falls on Ignis. “How’d it go? You had a meeting, right?”

Ignis doesn’t have an explanation for what he does next. He crosses the room, closing the distance between them, and sweeps Noctis into his arms. It startles the prince, but he feels him instantly relax in the embrace.

“That rough?” Noctis rubs his back in a nervous way, as if he’s never comforted another person before.

“In some ways, yes, but we’ve come up with some ideas.”

“Glad to hear it. If there’s anything I can do to help, I’d be—” 

Ignis cuts him off by pressing his lips to Noctis’. It is wild and irrational, but he wants nothing else. He feels as if he can’t have anything if he waits for it, but if he takes… Well, perhaps it is best to ask for the world’s forgiveness later.

Noctis leans into his arms, returning the kiss. They have both been aching for this for some time, and Ignis no longer wants to hold either of them back. Luna and Crowe have unapologetically held hands and—if the sounds that loudly travel down their hall can be believed—made love. Why should Ignis and Noctis tolerate loneliness and distance when they could enjoy the same pleasures of each other’s company?

And for now, _Agarte_ is high above the sky, in a place where no one can stop Ignis from holding Noctis and kissing his lips and doing more—if Noctis will let him.

“My room?” whispers Ignis.

“Please,” says Noctis, before he kisses Ignis again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love them so fucking much. Fifteen chapters and about 9 months later, they finally say "fuck it, we're dating" and I couldn't be more happy for them.
> 
> Assholes. :D


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, I haven't forgotten about this story. (Honestly, out of all my fics, this is the one that I am always the most excited about?)
> 
> This is a pretty fluffy chapter, you have been warned. :P

Without opening his eyes to the persistent morning sun, Noctis slides his foot across the fitted sheet until his toes poke out of the comforter. When he doesn’t tangle with another person’s legs, he pats his hand on the mattress beside him in alarm.

Reluctantly, he opens his eyes and peers around. After last night, he had hoped he wouldn’t wake up in Ignis’ empty room. Should he be pleased they hadn’t stopped and parted ways _before_ their lovemaking, or should he mope that there is no warm body beside him to latch onto? 

There is a creeping anxiety that twists like vines around his stomach, squeezing tight enough he decides not to get out of bed and go to the lounge for breakfast. He lies there for a while, curled in towards himself, and traces circles on the bedding. 

Doesn’t matter if Ignis decides they were too hasty—what they did last night happened, and they can never reverse it. Noctis wouldn’t want to even if he could. The night replays in his head, a rising tide of emotions and melodies, until a crescendo echoed in the room. They united on this bed. The scent of sex lingers on Noctis’ body and on the sheets. 

The thought of showering and stripping the bed motivates him to leave the warmth of blankets. He shuffles around on bare feet around the frame in nothing but a pair of Ignis’ borrowed pajama bottoms. A few spare sets of sheets can be found in a chest of drawers. Noctis selects the dark purple and sets to work switching them out. He is almost done fluffing the pillows—the last step before he slips into the shower—when Ignis walks in with a tray of food.

“Good morning,” says Ignis pleasantly, shutting the door behind him. He sets the tray on his desk. “Ah, throw sheets in the corner. I’ll take them down to the washroom later. Let’s eat first.”

Not wanting to let the food get cold or leave Ignis’ company, Noctis plops down on the bed cross-legged, while Ignis sits across from him. The tray rests between them, filled with a variety of fruits, cream cheeses, and breads. To the side, there is a dish with reheated sausages from yesterday.

“I can’t believe any of these are left!” Noctis spears one of them with his fork and takes a bite. The spicy flavor is as tasty as yesterday, if not better.

“You didn’t see how many they made,” says Ignis, smoothing cream cheese across a slice of bread. Peach slices are added on top in a fancy fan shape. “They could have fed a town.”

“Gladio counts as a town.”

Ignis laughs before leaning over and holding out the finished product of his labor. “Here, eat something a little softer for your stomach in the morning.”

Without taking it from Ignis, Noctis bites into it. The cream cheese is smooth and rich, the peaches at their peak ripeness. The thick bread is moist and tastes like something straight from a bakery oven that morning.

“Did you make the bread this morning?” asks Noctis after he finishes chewing. 

Ignis nods before eating the remainder. 

“It’s good.”

“I used to make a lot of bread when I was younger,” says Ignis. “My uncle would get up early and help me, and we’d have bread for breakfast and slice the rest for sandwiches to eat at lunch.”

“That sounds nice. Our cooks made ours. Can’t say it was memorable—I don’t miss it, but I didn’t dislike it. Don’t think I could go back, after tasting yours.” Noctis takes a slice to add cream cheese and sprinkle berries over. Delicious, but the presentation sucks—he’ll leave the fancy decorating to Ignis. “Between all the cooks on _Agarte_ , I’m going to get spoiled.” 

He chews while he thinks over his next words cautiously. Wouldn’t it be nice to wake up aboard the airship with Ignis serving him breakfast for the rest of his life? Noctis might even start looking forward to mornings.

“You were preparing all this while I slept?”

“Yes. I thought you might want breakfast in bed.”

“Won’t the others notice?”

Ignis wipes his lips with a napkin and stares down at the tray. “I’ve decided we’ll skirt around this issue no more. If anyone asks, I shall tell them my feelings for you. Is that…” Ignis meets Noctis’ gaze. “Is that all right?”

There is a fire burning in those pupils—the same fire they kindled between the sheets only hours ago. Something more than a man’s lust, a sincerity that made Noctis fall in love with Ignis in only a short time and has been responsible for his multiplied affections since then.

“This seems like a dream,” admits Noctis. “One minute you’re telling me to be discreet, the next you’re sweeping me off my feet.”

“I apologize for that. I made excuses and allowed fear to dictate over my actions. It occurs to me now that those who fight through hardships do so best with the support of others. While your plight is greater than ours—” 

“No comparing,” cuts off Noctis. His hand waves, slicing through the air and banishing away that line of thinking. “What I’m dealing with is a big deal, sure, but the airship is your livelihood.”

“We won’t have a livelihood if we go to war.”

“Pretty sure if that happens, _Agarte_ wouldn’t be safe in the skies, and the economy wouldn’t be stable enough for people to take luxury cruises. Not to mention…” Noctis frowns. “My dad would confiscate her. She might not be a war vessel, but even if he can’t get Prompto’s help, he can still find someone else to repurpose her.”

Ignis sets down the sausage he is halfway through, chewing the remainder of his bite slowly. A sick look spreads across his face.

“We can’t let that happen to your brother,” continues Noctis. “So…let’s do this together. As a couple.”

It takes a while for Ignis to answer. He finishes chewing, and then reaches out and takes Noctis’ hand in both of his.

“Yes,” he finalizes. “Together.”

~*~

“You’re holding it wrong! Move your thumb out of the way of the lens.”

Prompto drops his tools on his workspace and hurries over to help adjust Gladiolus’ grip on the camera. 

“Yeah, there, like that. Turn this to zoom in and out. Click here to take a picture once it focuses.” Prompto points and guides, nervous about having his sacred camera—a gift from Algernon years and years ago—in the hands of another. 

“I think I’ve got it.” Gladiolus grunts and lifts the camera. 

They have spent all day attempting to get the right set of photographs of Prompto. Ones that show him as an ordinary mechanic and technician, whose duties on the ship appear normal. No magic involved, none at all—something that says “Prompto Argentum is definitely not a warlock”. It might help that Gladiolus swears he looks harmless.

“I think they’ve got me mixed up for Ignis,” says Prompto as he scoops up his tools and begins to work on his air filter. He is supposed to feign looking busy, but he might as well be doing his work anyway. Candids are always the best photo anyway. “Not even Weskham looks that suspicious.”

“I’ve been on the receiving end of some of your brother’s looks.” Gladiolus raises the camera and adjusts the lens. “Can’t say it surprises me.”

“Can you use magic?” Prompto fits one of his brand new filters into a slot and lowers the flap. With any luck, it’ll succeed in the tests that are to come. 

“Nah, I don’t mess with the stuff. More of a hands-on kind of guy.”

“Ha, never would have guessed.” Prompto dusts off his new machine with a rag. “Get any good pictures yet?”

“We’ll have to see.”

That is the frightening part. They’re using the last of Prompto’s film for this event. There are still a few rolls left, but Ignis says they should try to get as many as possible to distribute to papers and magazines. But if it doesn’t work out, Prompto will have no money to buy more film. If he has any luck at all, he won’t have to pawn off the camera. It has as much meaning to him as _Agarte_. Losing her will be devastating enough. After being abandoned as a child and losing the one person who saw him as a son, he can’t bear to part with the camera or the airship… And definitely not both.

“Hey, what’s got you down?” Gladiolus reaches over and thumbs away a tear. “You’re gonna be all right. This will work out, and if my pictures are crap, you’ll just have to get Ignis to take them.”

“I guess. At least he doesn’t put his fingers in front of the lens.” 

“Sheesh, you don’t pull any punches. Guess you’re made of strong stuff—and that means you’re gonna be okay after all this.” Gladiolus kisses him on the nose, so quick and gentle it’s like a butterfly landing and fluttering away again. “Maybe you should take some photos of you interacting with some of the passengers.”

“Is Noct included in that?” asks Prompto.

“Oh, right. I was thinking of Sania, but Noct would be better for your public image, huh?”

“I don’t want to take advantage of him.”

“You have to start thinking like a businessman. Use everything you have to get ahead. Besides, he ain’t gonna mind.”

Prompto swallows and nods. “Hey, Gladio. About Sania…”

“Yeah?” The way Gladiolus perks up makes Prompto not quite jealous, but maybe… Well, a little. 

“You seemed pretty excited to meet her. Didn’t know you were such a big fan.”

“Definitely! I even had a little bit of a crush, until I met you.”

“Oh.” A blush trickles up to Prompto’s cheeks. That means even with the crush, Gladiolus likes him better. “You like me that much?”

“I do. Need your memory refreshed?” Gladiolus nods at the dark room.

“Oh, oh! Right…” 

Prompto is used to rejection. No matter how many years have passed since the day his parents abandoned him in Cartanica, despite all the people who have remained at his side, there is a small part in an unlit corner of his mind that festers with worry that someday, everyone will leave. They’ll find better things to do, better people to spend time with. It doesn’t mean they’ll resent him. They’ll simply forget about him.

Waking up to see Gladiolus every morning is exciting, but what will happen when that thrill fades?

“Chin up, sunshine,” says Gladiolus. His fingers push up under Prompto’s chin.

“Sunshine?”

“Yeah, you—lighting up my day like the sun.” 

Prompto squints at him. “How many people have heard that line?”

“Just you. I won’t pretend there haven’t been other people I’ve loved. Some who’ve left me, and some I’ve had to leave on my own. But they’re all individuals. No one deserves reusable nicknames.” Gladiolus threads his fingers through Prompto’s hair—likely messing up the styling job, but Prompto is too giddy to care. “You’re bright. Y’know, smart. But you do light up my day, and that hair of yours adds to the sunshine theme. Don’t you think?”

“Me, smart?” Prompto snorts. For the brief period of time he spent in the school system, others assumed he was stupid. There were plenty of bullies who came and went from his life, too. Adults and children alike who thought of him as someone lesser. The best he could wish for was that they ignored him. 

Now Gladiolus thinks he’s smart? 

“Guess I really fooled you, huh?” Prompto slouches across his workspace, sighing.

“You built a _fucking airship_. Name me one person in your life who said you were stupid who went on to do this.” Gladiolus gestures with his arms, doing half a spin—presumably to refer to the entirety of _Agarte_. “I can bet your answer is ‘none of them’, right?”

Prompto hesitates. He is pretty sure Gladiolus is correct, but some of those people went on to be successful. The little boy who lived in their same apartment building who used to tell Prompto how dumb he was went on to turn his parents’ little bakery into several restaurants across Insomnia. The principal who wouldn’t let Prompto go to his academy when he found out he had been homeschooled for several years under Algernon’s tutelage and later became a member of the board of education.

There are so many people who have shown doubt in Prompto, they would need more than the _Agarte_ to carry them all. They’d need a whole fleet!

Gladiolus pulls Prompto up and embraces him. 

“I’m not looking down on you, and I hope someday you won’t look down on yourself.” 

Prompto relaxes, arms sliding around that firm, muscular torso. It is good to know there are some who think highly of him, even when he often forgets his own accomplishments. Ignis, Weskham, Cindy, Cid, and now Gladiolus and probably Noctis, too… They all think he is worth something. Maybe that ought to be enough to accept it as the truth.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...I haven't forgotten about this. Probably most everyone else has, though... Oops.

Luna feels a bit out of place in her borrowed clothing. No one would let her watch the photoshoot without her wearing some kind of disguise. Even though she won’t be directly in the images, Crowe insists that she might reflect off a photo frame and be captured in the image. A sharp eye would recognize her right away in her normal outfits. 

She sits in Crowe’s jacket, her hair tucked beneath Sania’s orange cap. Her fingers pick at the frayed knees of a pair of Crowe’s jeans. The only thing she owns is the blue blouse and her undergarments. Even her feet are tucked in fuzzy white guest slippers.

The mild discomfort is worth it to watch Noctis and Prompto fumble in place. Beside them, Sania folds her arms across her chest and looks at them as if they’re the most hopeless people on their star. 

“I don’t know what to do,” says Prompto around the fingernail he’s chewing. “You have to give me some work!”

“Your work is to make sure Noctis and Sania look like guests you are greeting,” says Ignis in a stern voice. “Hold out your hand and shake it. But wipe it off first. Please, Prompto, you’ll make your nails bloody again…” 

Noctis is dressed up, too, as best as he can be with what is available on board. He wears a black pleated dress shirt tucked into a pair of black trousers. How handsome and princely he seems, as long as no one notices that he is wearing the same fuzzy slippers that adorn Luna’s feet. His hair is styled differently, too, but it still allows him to be recognizable to the public eye.

Luna would like to help them advertise the ship, but she is their little secret. If she were going through with marrying Noctis, they could pose together like honeymooners who’ve selected the best airship for their round the world trip. 

No, she is done with those days of holding her head up high and pretending. A puppet laced in white. Do they not know how badly white stains? Even a little dirt can make a pretty dress look like something old and raggedy. It always must be the right shade of white, too—bright, never cream. Never something that might suggest she has tainted it. 

Luna could get used to wearing more clothing similar to her disguise. Well, maybe without a hat—it feels a bit weird having something covering her head. 

She maintains a safe distance from the camera. The ship already has a target on its back without anyone knowing about her, even if they only see her ghostly reflection in the glass of the wall décor. The weapons would have already been fired if Noctis weren’t aboard. Still, that doesn’t mean they’re safe. If Regis’ glaives can blast through a side window and infiltrate Agarte, so can dozens of others. The key is civilian passengers, and lots of them. Harming citizens from any country would look bad in the eyes of the people and at worst be considered a declaration of war. They must only hope that none who board are spies, but Luna knows most if not all her mother’s people, and Noctis can surely recognize some of his father’s own. 

A flash bursts through the room, and Luna winces against it. When she looks up, Prompto is smiling mid-handshake with Noctis.

“Another one,” says Weskham, and the flash goes off a few seconds following. “Good, that should do it. Now if I could please have our esteemed biologist approach?” 

Sania steps in beside Prompto. Half the room is sharply dressed, while the others are in casual wear; Sania went for something in-between. She borrowed a flowery tunic from Luna to go with her jeans. It fits a bit snug at the arms and chest, but they’re nowhere near a clothing shop to be too picky. A frog pendant hangs from her neck.

“I’m in lecturer mode,” Sania jokes as she takes Prompto’s hand to shake it. “For this lecture, let’s talk about how ridiculous it is for anyone to think this airship is captained by a warlock. You’re one of the nicest people I’ve ever met. You even let me take my frogs on board!”

Prompto laughs—truly laughs—and it’s infectious. There is only one spell over that ship: the joyful one Sania has spread.

“As I’ve _toad_ you before, I support your efforts for environmentally safe transportation. It’s quite _ribbiting_ to listen to all your ideas!” 

Weskham’s camera clicks and flashes over genuine grins. Everyone watching is amused, too, and the mood that has plagued the ship lately seems to lift exponentially. Weskham brings Noctis back into the frame for a retry, and Luna can tell the last batch of photos will turn out much better than those taken earlier. 

“I think we have enough,” Weskham declares, and the entire room cheers.

It feels good to clap and whoop with the others in the room. As a lady, Luna has been trained to speak softly and never lapse on etiquette—not even in the privacy of her own room. It is so easy for her to understand why Noctis has taken such a liking to this ship and the staff on board. They’re family, and they have opened up their hearts and home to strangers. Luna can’t imagine ever going home when she can truly fly through the clouds and forget her concerns, even if she knows this dream cannot last. To obtain freedom, they must first gain it. That fight is the one that terrifies her. But she decides not to dwell on it. Not after Sania put so much effort into breaking the tension. 

For whatever short time it lasts, Luna would like to pretend that there is nothing but her current happiness to focus on.

~*~

Noctis rubs his thumb against Ignis’ palm as they hold hands. They’ve hidden away in the formal dining hall. Noctis didn’t realize there was another place to eat—a fancy upgrade from the lounge—until he asked Ignis about the elevator lift from the kitchens to somewhere below. Since it is meant for guests and no one but Ignis ever enters to clean it, it gives them the privacy to hide uninterrupted on the ship. 

“I think we did good today,” says Noctis. Although he has loosened the two upper buttons of his dress shirt, he is still in the clothing he wore for the photoshoot. “It’s good to see everyone smiling again. I’ll do everything I can to fix this.”

“How many times must I reassure you that you’re not guilty?” asks Ignis.

“I want to help Prompto. I want to help you.” The Six only knows how much the two—especially Ignis—have changed his life in such a short time. “You’re the closest people I’ve ever had to family.”

“Thank my uncle Algernon. If not for him, I doubt I’d be the man today, and I daresay Prompto might not even be alive.”

The last part of that sentence scares Noctis. How much has the world been failing its children that one would be allowed to die if not for the grace of a single stranger? Even if he succeeds to king someday, Noctis will never have the power to change other countries, and he can only push legislation in his own country or inspire others to care. Being a king has never bothered him, it’s the _kind_ of king he is expected to become that has led to all his troubles. That might have been the first wedge in his relationship with his father. Being a little prince came with some expectations, but he was still allowed his childhood. The moment he was old enough to learn how to take over for his father, however, began the start of their deteriorating relationship. 

Thinking about that upsets Noctis, and he doesn’t realize until Ignis calls his name that he’s gripping his hand too hard.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, loosening his fingers. He resumes his thoughtful stroking with his thumb.

“Does something bother you?”

“I think I just realized something about my dad.” He leans into Ignis. Lately, he has come to recognize that he’s been starved for physical affection for a long time. Now he never wants to let go of Ignis. Not for one moment. “I’ve always thought he changed on me, but I think I’m the one who changed. I grew up. That allowed me to see a less filtered version of him.”

Ignis kisses the top of his head. The feeling lingers against his scalp like a healing magic. “Change is a curious thing. It is inevitable. Time flows one way, and we can never go back, but that doesn’t mean that you were the only one who experienced it.”

“I guess that’s what bothers me. I think I’ve finally figured out I can never go back. You’d think I’d accept the loss of my dad in exchange for the family I have now…”

“You’re allowed to mourn for the family you wanted in him, just as I still mourn the death of my uncle. That doesn’t mean that neither of us can be happy now.”

Noctis lifts Ignis’ hand to his lips and presses a kiss to the palm. He allows his warm breath to linger against his lover’s skin for a moment before he raises his head again. “You’re right, but of course you’re right—you always have things figured out. Are you sure you aren’t the warlock on this ship? You’ve got a special kind of magic of your own.”

“Oh, I am definitely the warlock,” says Ignis, tucking a hand beneath Noctis’ chin and raising it up so their lips can meet. “I’m sure all the rumors about Prompto were started because of me, and now I’m using my magic words to help you heal.”

“I’d say you’re lighting a fire instead.”

“I was aptly named, then, wasn’t I?”

Noctis snorts, and the two of them share a laugh with their foreheads pressed together. It is hard to feel completely terrible for long when he’s around Ignis. To have his grief validated—to have Ignis reassure him that it’s acceptable to not be one hundred percent happy when moving into a new stage in life—has given him the strength to face his hardships. How else can he confront his troubles if he’s denied they exist?

Noctis is scared, but he is beginning to feel more prepared for whatever the future holds. He won’t be alone when the time comes to battle, even if it means taking on his own father.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ngl, one of my earliest intentions with this story was to put Luna in some color. I keep imagining her in like...pink denim jackets and blue printed shirts and all sorts of cute leggings. Maybe she borrows some stained overalls from Cindy. Lots of clothes are borrowed in the making of this fic.

**Author's Note:**

> Agarte is the name of a character in Tales of Rebirth, heck yeah! (I have to point out the reference, since I doubt anyone will get it. In fact, Regis' airship is named after another character in Rebirth, Milhaust.)


End file.
